Dousing The Flames
by samiam2327
Summary: "Katniss," he begs with a pained expression, I know that he won't be able to stop. That, if I let him, this will go farther than anything either of us has ever experienced. This prospect appeals to me and I silence him with a kiss that seals our fate. Catching Fire AU, one night will have lasting consequences for Peeta and Katniss, ones that neither of them could have anticipated.
1. Chapter 1

Dousing the Flames

The shards of glass shattered everywhere as I put my fist through the unprotected window. Despite the fortune bestowed upon the victor's village, none of us had bothered to invest in a security system. Somehow I think we silently dared somebody to try and break in, to try and steal from us, or kill us. After the games, we no longer slept, no longer let our guards down; I pitied the fool who tried to sneak up on a victor.

I brushed the jagged pieces of glass away from the windowpane and crawled over, landing in the kitchen of Haymitch's house. Tonight, the nightmares had been worse than usual, the mutts had plagued my restless mind this time. The screams and the cold, lifeless faces of the fallen tributes still haunted me and with the quarter quell announcement, they seemed to become even more vived in my dreams. The announcement had hit me harder than I'd let Peeta know. It was a way for the capitol to get back at us, to prove that we really would never be safe. I wouldn't let them win though, I would make sure that _Peeta_ made it out of this alive. He had taken care of me last time, but now it was his turn.

Haymitch's kitchen was a mess, not that I expected any better from a man that spends less than ten percent of his day actually sober. Dishes filled the sink and rotting food lay out, making me want to retch. I needed liquor tonight though; I needed the numbing distraction. I had only gotten drunk on one other occasion, just after we had gotten home from the games. It was just after they released us from the hospital, they had a huge bamquet in our honor, another publicity stunt. I kept seeing Rue and my mind kept replaying the spear piercing his fragile body. I downed nearly two bottles of wine. Even Haymitch was impressed by my abilty to hold my liquor.

I had never really liked the stuff though, I didn't enjoy the prospect of my senses being dulled, but now I couldn't take it any longer, I needed something to take the edge off.

I rustled through Haymitch's top cabinets without any success, I looked through the pantry, the icebox; everywhere I could think off. I stopped and cursed to myself, this was Peeta's fault. Since we had gotten back, he had taken it upon himself to reform Haymitch. He would come over here occasionally and dump all of his liquor and raid all of his stashes. He'd even gone as far as paying off people at the hob from trading with the smelly old drunk. I racked my brains for any clue as to where the sneaky bastard would hide it, when I remembered visiting Haymitch's house for the first time after we had gotten back.

_The entire house reeked of whiskey and beer, Haymitch's two preferences. He had never really had a taste for vodka or any of the frillier, capitol drinks (not that he _wouldn't_ drink them per se). I stepped around the discarded dishtowels and assorted piles of clothing that littered the floor. Come Wednesday the entire place would be sparkling for a few hours, as the capitol provided a cleaning service for the victors to keep up appearances._

"_Looking for something, sweetheart?" Haymitch cackled from the corner of the room. I jumped at the sound of his voice, I had failed to spot him coming in._

"_Just wondering where your sorry ass was." I replied smartly._

"_Katniss, Katniss, Katniss," he slurred, "When will you ever learn to play nice with others?"_

"_When others learn to stop pissing me off." At this, Haymitch let out another croak of laughter._

"_You know something, honey? I used to be just like you. Then all this bullshit came around and I decided not to bother anymore. Not to bother fighting them, it's like a fly bighting on an elephant's ass. We're just a minor annoyance to snow you know that, right? We ain't ever gonna make a difference. That's why I've got my wonderful sock drawer to allow me to hold on to just an ounce of my sanity. Or at least a pint." He belts out another set of laughter over his little quip, but it sounds hollow._

_I study his sunken eyes and mussed up clothing, wondering what brought this little tirade on. Haymitch loves to bellyache and bullshit, he rarely allows anyone to see past his rough demeanor. I form the words carefully in my mouth as I feel dull anger rising up inside my chest, "No, Haymitch," I say softly, "I wouldn't have given up." _

_I turn and walk towards the door, coming here had been a mistake, as my hand reaches the handle I hear his sullen voice behind me. "You will, hun, we all do in the end."_

I shudder at the memory, despite its usefulness; I still cringe at the thought of Haymitch's words. I need to get to that sock drawer fast, I can't take much of this _thinking_ anymore; it's maddening. I shuffle through his drawers and eventually find one filled with rolled socks. I feel around for any bottles, but nothing but soft cotton greets my fingers. I let out a grunt of frustration and bring my fist down on the drawer. I stop at the hollow sound it emits. Carefully, my fingers probe the edge of the drawer, finding a small notch in the woodwork. I stealthily pry open the false bottom to find a plethora of bottles.

Not really caring, I grab several and stuff them in my pockets. I had these pants tailored with extra large pockets after the games. They were useful for storing weapons, just in case. Paranoia was another side effect of the games, I had an entire cabinet back at home dedicated to weapons and supplies, I never wanted to feel that helpless again.

Haymitch would be furious when he returns home, but at this point I'm past caring. I pause in the kitchen and rip off the cap to a small brown bottle, quickly pouring it down my throat. It burns and chills at the same time as it slides down my windpipe, giving the world a dull buzz.

"Katniss?" The gentle voice in the doorway startles me. I turn to find Peeta staring at me with questioning eyes. He looks around at the torn apart kitchen, taking in every detail. "They were bad tonight weren't they?" He says softly, his gentle blue eyes seeing right through me. I hated when he did that, he always had the ability to make me feel _vulnerable._

At the same time, I love him for it. He's the only one who understands what happened in that arena. Haymitch has permanently banished any of his time in the games from his memory with booze. Maybe I'll do the same. I take another long, healthy swing out of the bottle.

"So what if they were?" I spit. Alcohol tends to make me even more confrontational than usual.

"Katniss, you can't do this to yourself." His baby blues seemed to melt me and I felt him breaking through. I couldn't let him and I steeled myself up yet again.

"Sorry we aren't all Saint Peeta! The tortured artist, painting away his problems every day." I punctuated each statement with another sip from the bottle. He knows I'm just trying to hurt him; he's far to patient with me.

"Is it the Quell, Katniss? We're all worried about it, you know. You can talk to me."

"Maybe I don't fucking want to." I snarl. I go to take yet another gulp when I realize the bottle is empty. I throw it up against the wall where it shatters into tiny little pieces. I watch the glass tinkle to the floor when I suddenly feel my knees buckling beneath me. In an instant, Peeta is at my side, cradling me in his arms. I can feel tears biting at my throat, but I steel myself against them.

"It's okay to cry, Katniss." He whispers into my hair. I know that he is right and unwillingly I feel the hot tears slide down my face. "let's go home." He says softly.

"I can't" my voice sounds pitiful, even in my own ears.

"Then back to my house, I'll take the couch."

He scoops me up in his arms and carries me the brief distance between Haymitch's house and his own. I've always admired his strong physique; he never fails to amaze me with his strength. Soon he lays me down on his comfortable queen bed. I have a matching one at my house, but somehow his seems so much better, so much more inviting. He tucks my hair behind my ear affectionately and this small action makes me want him.

I act before I can process what exactly it is I want to do and my lips are on his. It feels so right and so inviting. The alcohol courses through my veins, making any possibility of stopping out of the question. He pauses when we are down to our underwear, holding me at arm's length, "Katniss," he begs with a pained expression, I know that he won't be able to stop. That, if I let him, this will go farther than anything either of us has ever experienced. This prospect appeals to me and I silence him with a kiss that seals our fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Getting Burned**

Light pierces my eyes, sending what feels like the equivalent to a steel knife through my brain. I groan and roll over, surprised to find the bed cool and empty. I sit up, groaning again as the contents of my stomach shift inside me. As the world comes back into focus, I notice that the room is in complete disarray. There are clothes thrown all around the room (Many of them mine, much to my own chagrin) and drawers have been yanked out of their places, not to mention a lamp lays shattered on the floor.

I search my brain for any memories of violence from last night, but come up empty. All I remember is happiness and passion. I carefully probe the floor for my clothes, avoiding the jagged ceramic pieces of the lamp. After dressing myself carefully I tip toe down the stairs, fairly unnerved at what I'd found in the bedroom.

The entire floor is deserted, but somebody was definitely here. The hallway bears the damage of one angry person and the wall has a gaping hole in it as though someone punched it. This deepens my confusion; there are no signs of a break in so that only leaves Peeta. Why would he be angry? Last night was amazing, didn't he understand that?

I know that I have to deal with this, so I put my hair up into a semi-acceptable braid and set off towards the bakery. I walk through the oak doors and immediately I'm hit with the heat of the small building. No matter how many times I walk in here, I never really get used to it. The ovens are always on 24/7 so the bakery is always boiling hot.

"Peeta!" I call out, craning my neck around the counter for a glimpse of my boy with the bread.

I'm surprised when the doors to the kitchen burst open to reveal not Peeta, but his older brother, Rilee. He regards me carefully for a moment as he wipes his hand on a dishtowel, finally, he opens his mouth to speak, choosing his words carefully.

"I don't know what you did to him," Rilee says slowly. "But he is majorly pissed." My face falls as he says this, and I'm forced to admit that I don't understand Peeta at all. After everything that happened last night, how can he manage to be angry? I thought that was my job in this relationship. I cringe at that word; _relationship. _

"Well where is he? I have to talk to him." I say with a sigh.

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea, hot stuff." I scowl at the name, Rilee is the exact opposite of Peeta, he is crude, vulgar, and most of all _cocky._ "He's pretty torn up."

I walk slowly towards Rilee, my hands behind my back and a slight smile on my face. I stop a few feet from him and then I strike. I cuff the back of his neck and quickly twist his left arm behind him, leaving him defenseless. I lean in close, whispering in his ear, "I suggest you refrain from calling me that from now on Rilee," I hiss, "Now, if you don't mind, I'd _really_ like to know where Peeta is."

He struggles for a moment but I hold him in a death grip. He may be strong, but years of hunting in the woods have left me with wiry muscles in my arms, plus the position I hold him in leaves him at a significant disadvantage. "Fine, he's in the back, painting."

I release him and he immediately straightens up, rubbing his arm and muttering to himself. I smirk to myself over his discomfort before walking into the back room. On the way I pass Peeta's mother, who gives me a look of disapproval, and his oldest brother Ray, who regards me emotionlessly. I shrug off both of their stares and push open the doors that lead into the back room. I freeze at the sight that meets me.

Peeta sits behind his easel, his back turned to me, leaving his painting fully exposed. It's a scene that often appears in my nightmares; Cato being ripped apart by the mutts. The painting shows it in graphic detail, leaving little to the imagination, even going as far as to show Peeta and I on top of the cornucopia, me fitting an arrow into my bow. Seeing this seems to knock all the air out of my lungs.

The way his delicate brush strokes portray me is nothing short of amazing, every small detail from my sharp face to the little mole on the side of my jaw is present. That isn't all though, the tone of my likeness is one of awe and admiration. I don't understand how he managed to capture such emotion in a two-dimensional piece of art, but he did. I look like a warrior, a hero. I revere at his talent, sometimes I don't think he realizes how good he is.

I don't even notice when Peeta turns around to face me. "What are you doing here?" He says, his normally warm blue eyes regarding me coldly.

"I—I came to see if you were alright. I saw the house this morning and—well I was concerned." I stutter, still caught off guard by the painting.

"Let's be honest, you don't give a damn Katniss." I flinch at the curse word. I use them all the time, but hearing it out of Peeta's mouth is like a slap to the face.

"Peeta—why are you acting like this? Last night, I thought…" I trail off, tears clouding my vision. I silently curse at myself for being so weak.

"Thought what? That you can just continue to fuck with me like I'm some sort of toy? I'm not stupid Katniss and I'm sick of you fucking with my feelings!" He slams his fist down on the counter. Then he lowers his voice, "I can't do this anymore."

"Peeta, It's not like that," I can hear the pleading in my voice, "I love you Peeta." I pause at this statement, realizing that I really do mean it. Peeta understands me like no other. He's like a security blanket, always there for me, keeping me safe and holding the fragile pieces of my sanity together.

"Don't say things you don't mean Katniss." He says, his voice so cold it freezes my heart. He lingers for a moment longer before brushing past me. I don't follow him.

I sit like that for a few moments, staring at the painting, feeling Peeta's pain. The pain left over from the games, the pain left over from _me._ I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder and I turn, hoping to find Peeta. Instead I'm met with the warm brown eyes of his brother, Ray.

"I think you should go, Katniss." His voice is soft and gentle and I'm grateful for his compassion towards me. I'm sure if Rilee or their mother had gotten me, the message would have been much less kind.

I allow him to lead me from the shop and from there I just wander around town, not really feeling. I'm hurt by Peeta's words and even more so by his disbelief. Am I really that detached? That cruel? It hurts that he thinks so little of me.

The next few weeks pass by slowly and quickly all at the same time. I barely see Peeta and when I do I get the same cold glance. I hate myself for what I've done to him. I literally make myself sick, over the last few days I'd been vomiting up nearly everything I ate, keeping the bare minimum down.

On the day of the reaping, I choose to skip breakfast, thwarting the inevitable puking. My mother washes and braids my hair; her delicate fingers feeling good on my scalp. I take pleasure in these little things, as I know that soon they will be lost to me. Soon, I will enter the games for a second time, but this time, I won't be coming out. I still fully intend to get Peeta out of these games, even though he refuses to look me in the eyes. It doesn't matter, I still love him and he still deserves it more than I do.

I barely flinch when Effie reaches into the bowl, pulling out the only card in it, and reads my name. I walk up onstage mechanically, and emotionlessly. When she reads out the name of the male tribute my heart gives a little leap as she reads out Haymitch's name. For one brief moment, I hope that Haymitch will go into the games with me, leaving Peeta safe at home. My dream is shattered, seconds later, when Peeta volunteers in Haymitch's place.

I knew that he would, it's not in Peeta's nature to let another die when he could prevent it. Plus, I know that he admires Haymitch in a weird way. He's become a sort of father figure to Peeta, and he was bound to protect the old drunk.

The guards place their hands on the small of my back and I shake them off; their touch makes me feel like vomiting, a sick reminder of Snow's constant control over me. I hate it. I hate them. I hate the entire fucking world. It doesn't matter though, it is over, I'm going to die.

I experience the same empty feeling that I did a year ago, as the heavy Mahogany doors close behind us and we are escorted into the Justice building. The Hunger Games have begun.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Not to be one of those annoying authors who beg for reviews, but if you guys could toss a few my way that would be greatly appreciated! I love reading your suggestions or criticisms or just general comments! They are an inspiration and they make me want to update as fast as possible, so please, please, please throw a few my way? I'll even try to respond to some of them if you guys want. Sorry about the long wait on this, my schedule has been a bit crazy. Anyway I hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 3: Feeling the Sting**

I stare out across the capitol rooftops, taking in the city. The buildings are all painted in bright colors, their designs' more for aesthetic purposes than functional. The buildings stand tall and the skyline is beautiful, but not nearly as beautiful as the woods back home. I miss the feeling of my toes sinking into the dirt, moist from the morning dew. And, how after a rain, the leaves of the trees sparkled as though they were encrusted with precious gems. The natural beauty back home beats the synthetic one of the capitol on any day.

While I ponder these thoughts, I notice a presence behind me. My hunter's instinct hears the slight sound of air escaping as the door to the roof closes. I feel my hopes rise, as I listen to the familiar clunky footfalls and labored steps. I hold my breath as he comes to a stop at my side.

"Couldn't sleep?" I venture, hoping for a response.

"No." His answer is short and clipped, filled with unspoken hurt.

"Peeta, please talk to me." I beg, turning to face him. He looks terrible. He has deep purple bags under his eyes, and it looks as though he hasn't shaved in days.

"What's there to talk about? We're in the same place we were a year ago. I love you," after this, I barely register the rest of his speech. "But you don't love me, you jerk my feelings around, and not to mention we're going to have to fight to the death in just a few days."

"You still love me?" I say softly.

"Katniss," he sighs, running a hand through his thick, blonde hair, "of course I still love you. I've loved you since we were little kids rutting around in the same sandbox. I don't understand what I have to do to convince you of it."

"But the other night, a few weeks ago, you were so mad."

"I know, I just—I can't keep throwing myself out there and you shooting me down." He says, his eyes hardening.

"I don't know what you remember, but I didn't exactly turn you down last time," I point out with a smirk.

His face reddens, "I just don't think we did _that_ for the right reasons. Let's face it, you love Gale, Katniss."

"Gale and I have barely spoken since I got back! He understands that I choose you, why can't you just pull your head out of your ass and see that?" I say throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation.

"Do you mean it?" his voice is barely above a whisper. In response to his question, I lean forward and press my lips against his, showing him just how much I love him.

After several moments, we both come up gasping for air. We look at each other for a moment and then he puts his arms around me, we lay on our backs, wrapped in each other's embrace.

"I miss the stars back home." I whisper after awhile.

"I know, here they just seem so—so,"

"Fake." I finish for him.

...

It feels odd to be standing back in the training room, but this time surrounded by different, much stronger, tributes (although Cato did come pretty close to their skill level). All eyes seem to be on Peeta and me and their stares make me feel uncomfortable.

Peeta must sense my discomfort, as he places a hand on the small of my back and guides me towards the foraging station. The woman there greets us with a smile as we spent most of our time at her station last year due to Haymitch's rule on hiding our talents.

We stay at the table for about an hour, learning about different berries and edible roots. I decide to head over to the archery station. I mean, what's the point of not practicing if everyone here has already seen what I can do?

I pick up an oak bow that resembles the one I use back home. After notching an arrow, I aim, take a deep breath, relaxing all my muscles, and let it fly. The arrow strikes the target in the head. I repeat this process several times, but eventually I get bored.

"Can we do anything else?" I ask the man that's supervising this particular station.

"I was hoping you would ask." He says with a grin, "We had this specially fitted for you, Miss Everdeen." With that he flips a small switch on the wall that I hadn't noticed before.

As soon as he does, the targets come to life. The human cutouts begin to move around in different patterns. I grin to myself at this challenge.

I notch another arrow and let it fly, striking a cut out in the center of its head. After several more minutes, each target has an arrow in its head. The man flips the switch, and the targets jerk to a stop. I turn around and place the bow back on the rack.

When I turn back around, I see that the rest of the room is staring back at me, their eyes wide. I regard them coolly, trying not to show emotion as, in a few days, we will all be attempting to kill each other. I spin on my heel and go to the hand-to-hand combat station.

...

"Sweetheart, I don't know what you did down there, but I just got a bunch of requests from the other trainers for you to be in an alliance." Haymitch says as he pours himself a drink from the bar.

"I just did a little target practice." I smirk.

"That's my girl," He says with a laugh, "So what do you think about an alliance?"

"I mean, that's what got me and Peeta through the last time, so I guess so." I say with a shrug. He nods his head at my statement and I hesitate before speaking again. "Haymitch, I need to ask you for something."

"I already know what you're gonna say, honey, and I'll do my best."

"Just make sure he's the one that comes home. I don't want to live without him."

"As I said, I'll do my best."

...

My eyes fly open the next morning and I throw myself out of bed. I barely make it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach come flying out of my mouth. I heave for several minutes, before standing up and rinsing out my mouth.

I open the bathroom door to find Haymitch staring at me with hardened eyes. He cuffs me by the back of the neck and leads me out of the room and down the corridor. I open my mouth to protest, but the look on his face makes me stop dead in my tracks.

Effie sees us and her eyes widen in shock, "Haymitch I—" She starts.

"Shut the fuck up, Effie." He snarls.

"Well I never." She stands up and leaves with a huff.

Haymitch leads me to the first aid center, each floor is equipped with one, as the capitol wants their tributes in tip top shape for the games. He rummages through several drawers and then grabs a small rectangular box from one. He then leads me back to the bathroom.

"Piss on this." He says, shoving the box at me.

"Haymitch, what the hell—

"Just fucking do it." His voice is hard.

I shut the bathroom door and lean up against it, taking several deep breaths. I then glance at the box Haymitch gave me; a pregnancy test. I stare at it in shock and disbelief. I turn to tell Haymitch he's mistaken when I pause, my hand on the door handle, mentally counting back the days since my cycle. 7 weeks.

It's always been irregular, though. With food being so scarce back home, it's always been a bit off. But _seven weeks._ _There's only one way to find out,_ I think to myself.

I follow the instructions on the box and then wait an agonizing two minutes. After I've counted back from sixty, twice, I turn to the little stick on the counter. The two little lines seem to stare back at me, mocking me.

A little squeak escapes my throat and I put my hand over my mouth, tears streaking down my cheeks. I hear the door click open.

Haymitch walks over to me and peers at the test, "What have you done?" He says. It sounds more like he's talking to himself than to me, "Whose is it, Gale's?"

"Peeta's" I choke out, "It was always Peeta, Haymitch."

"As glad as I am that you've realized that, sweetheart, you've got one hell of a mess to clean up." I let out another sob as I realize he's right.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I was so happy with all of your reviews! I just had to update again and I made this chapter extra long! The reviews on this story literally doubled! I was so excited by all of your guys' comments!

**BarbaroLova: **Thanks for noticing, I really tried to emphasize Katniss and Haymitch's relationship in this chapter as I want it to play a key factor later on. I always saw them as having an almost father-daughter relationship despite its tough exterior.

**ValkarieKain: **Of course it isn't over! I'm not cruel enough to leave it on such a cliffhanger!

**LightningAttitude: **I updated super fast just so you wouldn't be left on the edge for too long!

**Chapter 4: The Fire Spreads**

"Okay, we need to sit down and discuss our strategy." Haymitch says, pouring himself a drink (void of alcohol, I noticed with mild surprise) and plopping down into a chair across from Peeta and me.

"I thought we were going to form an alliance?" I ask recounting the discussion Haymitch and I had after my first training session.

"Well as fine and dandy as that is, sweetheart, I think we need to elaborate more on that. If we were to form an alliance, whom would you want it to be with?" He says with a hint of reproach.

"Well, I thought the idea was to train like careers this time around, so I think we should try and get in with Finnick Odair and the tributes from one and two. I think it's our best bet, what do you think, Katniss?" Peeta interjects.

I shrink away from his gaze. Since the incident with Haymitch, I haven't been able to even look at Peeta, let alone make eye contact with him. I know he can tell something's wrong and it won't be long before he asks. I only hope that my mediocre lying skills can hold him off. I don't want him distracted for the games.

"Um, sure, I don't really care." I say, and Peeta shoots me a confused glance. I suppose it is out of character for me not to have some sort of opinion, so I hastily add, "Well I like Mags and Seeder."

Haymitch snorts, "Of course you do." I shoot him a reproachful glare and he shrugs, "I think wonder boy over here has the right idea, but you two need to make sure you continue to look tough in the training center. Show them your strengths. This isn't like last time. You two are at a disadvantage because they all know each other, they're pretty friendly. You're the outsiders, so try and make friends." He stares pointedly at me with this comment and I glare back at him.

"Well, we should probably head down there." Peeta says, standing up.

"Yeah." I mutter, still avoiding his eyes.

"Okay, but Katniss could you hang back here for a moment, I want to talk to you." Haymitch says gruffly. "Go on lover boy, she'll catch up to ya'."

We both watch him go and as soon as the sliding doors close, Haymitch turns to me, "Have you figured out what you're going to do about that." He says, pointing at my stomach.

"What's there to figure out, Haymitch? I'll be in the arena in a few days where I'll die and the baby along with me." I cringe at this thought, but continue on, "Nobody needs to find out. _Nobody, _Haymitch."

"Not telling him isn't right, sweetheart, it's his too." He says softly. I notice that his voice void of its usual sarcastic tone.

"If I tell him it will only distract him. He needs to be focused so he can get through this. This changes nothing, Haymitch. He needs to come home."

Haymitch nods his head, accepting my wishes, "Whatever you want, honey. You should go now, he's probably wondering where you're at."

I nod my head in agreement and walk out the door, pausing for a moment, I look back at Haymitch,"This changes nothing." I repeat softly. I briefly wonder if it's for his benefit or mine.

"Hello, Katniss," A voice from behind me says. I set down the knot I've been working on and turn to find Finnick Odair staring at me, a happy grin on his face. I regard him coolly, and don't say anything. He doesn't seem to notice or if he does, he doesn't care. "You know," he says, taking a seat next to me, "I love making knots and I'm quite good at him."

He chooses to demonstrate this by picking up the knot I was working on and perfecting it after just a few moments. I refrain from scowling at his cheerful demeanor, remembering Peeta's desire to form an alliance with him.

"They remind me of back home, actually." Finnick says; his bright eyes seem to glaze over at the mention of his home. For a brief moment, I can sympathize with him. I can see past his giddy, arrogant exterior and view the scared little fourteen-year-old boy that once existed.

This moment of clarity ends however when I remember my first encounter with Finnick during the opening ceremonies:

_The crunching hits my ear before I even know he's beside me, and when I turn my head, Finnick Odair's famous sea green eyes are only inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth, with more crunching and sucking, then leans against my horse._

_"Hello, Katniss," he says, as if we've known each other for years, when in fact we've never met._

_I try to keep my scowl on the horse and not him. "Hello, Finnick," I say, just as casually although I'm feeling uncomfortable at his closeness, especially since he's got so much bare skin exposed._

_"Want a sugar cube?" he says, offering his hand, which is piled high. "They're suppose to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I... well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."_

_Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he's still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favor, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair paired with those incredible eyes. While other tributes that year were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything. Not food or medicines or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and knifes he had found at the Cornucopia._

_When he received the silver parachute with a trident it was all over._

_District 4's industry is fishing. He'd been on boats his whole life, the trident came naturally. He wove nets to entangle his opponents and spear them. Within the matter of days he had the crown._

_Now there's rumors about him being given to the biggest bidder of drooling Capitol citizens. I can't argue that Finnick isn't one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say he's never been attractive to me. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe he's too easy to get, or maybe it's he's too easy to loose. Either way, the thought of sharing him with paying Capitol snobs was revolting._

_"No, thanks," I say to the sugar. "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though."_

_He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so that he can't technically be called naked, but he's about as close as you can get. I'm sure his stylist thinks the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better._

_"You're absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?" he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. Probably this drives most people crazy, but for some reason all I can think about is old Cray, salivating over some poor, starving young woman._

_"I outgrew them," I say simply._

_Finnick takes the collar of my outfit and runs it between his fingers. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."_

_"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on anyway, Finnick?"_

_"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," says Finnick._

_"Then how do they pay you for the pleasures of your company?" I ask._

_"With secrets," he says softly. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have secrets worth my time?"_

_Do I? My mouth immediately says, "No, I'm an open book. Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself." But I blush, the heat flaming down my cheeks. I did have a secret. My hands fidget along the hem of my outfit. My mind kept flashing back to that night with Peeta; the reason for all the tension between us._

I shake my head at the memory and I am about to return to my knot-making when Haymitch's words echo in my ears, _You're the outsiders, so try and make friends. _With a sigh I turn back to Finnick, noticing that he's already completed four more knots.

"So, um, Finnick, what do you think the arena will be like this year?" I say, using the only thing I can think of. Why can't I be better at small talk?

"Who knows? Probably something sick and twisted that will result in many of our extremely painful deaths." Despite this particularly gruesome statement, Finnick's tone remains light and upbeat.

I grunt in understanding and attempt to focus back on the knot in my hand. "Here let me help you." Finnick says. He immediately comes up behind me and places his hands over mine. I'm extremely uncomfortable at his close proximity, but I try not to let it show.

"See, you hold the knot loosely in your fingers and hold the rope taut, but not too tight, there has to be a bit of slack. Then you just wrap it around, leaving a tad bit hanging over, and then pull it through. See? Easy." I smile uneasily back at him, praying he'll release me soon, "Okay, how about a more complex one?"

Before I can protest someone speaks up from behind Finnick, "Hey Odair, not trying to steal my woman now are you?" Peeta jokes.

Finnick releases me and turns to face Peeta, "Of course not Peeta! Who would I be to come between the two star-crossed lovers of district twelve? You must invite me to the wedding." His face falls at that statement, "Then again, I guess there won't be one after all this."

His words cause my stomach to churn, reminding me of my little secret. Then again, it doesn't really matter. Soon, I'll be in the arena. Soon, I'll be dead.

By the time the morning is upon us, we're roused from our places by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me in the same room is too much for Octavia apparently, because she bursts into tears right away.

"You remember what Cinna told us," Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Peeta has to return to his room for prep. He gives me a long, calculated look before leaving, and I'm left alone with Venia and Flavius. The usual chatter has been suspended. Instead, there's little talk at all, other than to have me raise my chin or comment on a makeup technique. It's nearly lunch when I feel something dripping on my shoulder and turn to find Flavius, who's snipping away at my hair with silent tears running down his face. Venia gives him a look, and he gently sets the scissors on the table and leaves.

Then it's just Venia, whose skin is so pale her tattoos appear to be leaping off it. Almost rigid with determination, she does my hair and nails and makeup, fingers flying swiftly to compensate for her absent teammates. The whole time, she avoids my gaze. It's only when Cinna shows up to approve me and dismiss her that she takes my hands, looks me straight in the eye, and says. "We would all like you to know what a...privilege it has been to make you look your best." Then she hastens from the room.

My prep team. My foolish, shallow, affectionate pets, with their obsessions with feathers and parties, nearly break my heart with their good-bye. I hadn't slept well and my mind is still a mess of turmoil, on top of that is the insane amount of hormones my body is franticly trying to process. Infuriatingly tears begin to slip down my cheeks as the last of my prep team leaves me with those words. It's certain by what Venia said that we all know I won't be returning. Or at least the initial thought is still there.

And I wonder, _does the whole world know it? _I look at Cinna, and I swipe at the tears in frustration. I don't want to cry. Normal Katniss would not be crying. I didn't truly and honestly care for my prep team on a loving level. The tears were irking me in such ways that when Cinna asks me how I'm holding up, I say, "I'm not crying!" and my voice is cracking.

He gives me a considering look. "Of course not."

"I don't w-want to cry." The hot liquid seeps out behind closed eyelids. "Make it stop!"

Cinna mutters softly under his breath, while petting my hair. I know there is no danger of tears from him, like he promised, but why couldn't I just handle myself? "Just let it out, Katniss," he says and I find in minutes my shoulders are shaking and I'm gasping ridiculously.

It takes a while for me to control it. Once I finally have it and I can swallow air without choking it back up, I turn to Cinna, embarrassed, voice thick, as I ask, "What am I wearing tonight?" My eyes find the garment bag that holds my dress.

"President Snow put in the dress order himself," says Cinna darkly. He unzips the bag, revealing one of the wedding dresses I wore for the photo shoot. Heavy white silk with a low neckline and tight waist and sleeves that fall from my wrists to the floor. And pearls. Everywhere pearls. Stitched into the dress and in the ropes at my throat and forming the crown for the veil. "Even though they announced the Quarter Quell the night of the photo shoot, people still voted for their favorite dress, and this was the winner. The president says you're to wear it tonight. Our objections were ignored."

I rub a bit of the silk between my fingers, trying to figure out President Snow's reasoning. I suppose since I was the greatest offender, my pain and loss and humiliation should be in the brightest spotlight. This, he thinks, will make that clear. It's so barbaric, the president turning my bridal gown into my shroud, that blow strikes home, leaving me with a dull ache inside. But I don't want to cry again; he doesn't deserve my tears.

"Well, it'd be a shame to waste such a pretty dress," I manage to say as Cinna expectantly waits for an answering reply.

Cinna helps me stand and remove the robe I bore. As he is removing the rest of the cover on the dress, I find myself distracted by my reflection. I picture myself a few months from now, with a round belly, and Peeta at my side. I wonder what it would be like, to be a mother. Would our child have Peeta's deep blue eyes? Maybe my dark hair? I shake my head at these thoughts; I can't afford to think like that at this point.

When the dress is ready to pull on, we do it carefully to avoid disrupting any piece of the delicate looking ensemble. As it settles on my shoulders, they can't help giving a shrug of complaint. "Was it always this heavy?" I ask. I remember several of the dresses being dense, but this one feels like it weighs a ton.

"I had to make some slight alterations because of the lighting," says Cinna, and I swear I see something twinkle in his eyes. I nod, but I can't see what that had to do with anything. I let the subject drop.

He decks me out in the shoes and the pearl jewelry and the veil after that. Touches up my makeup from the tears and has me walk.

"You're ravishing," he says. "Now, Katniss, because this bodice is so fitted, I don't want you raising your arms above your head. Well, not until you twirl anyway."

"Will I be twirling again?" I ask, thinking of my dress last year.

"I'm sure Caesar will ask you. And if he doesn't, you suggest it yourself. Only not right away. Save it for your big finale," Cinna instructs me.

Anything to please Cinna, after everything he's done for me in the past two or three days, on top of last year. "You give me the signal so I know when," I say.

"All right. Any plans for your interview? We left you two to your own devises last night," he says.

"No," I say cautiously. "This year I'm just winging it. The funny thing is; I'm not nervous at all." And I'm not...about the interviews. However much President Snow may hate me, the Capitol audience is still mine.

We meet up with Effie, Haymitch, Portia, and Peeta at the elevator. Peeta's in an elegant tuxedo and white gloves; the sort of thing grooms wear to get married in, here in the Capitol.

Back home everything is so much simpler. A woman usually rents a white dress that's been worn a hundreds of times. The man wears something clean that's not mining clothes. They fill out some forms at the Justice Building and are assigned a house. Family and friends gather for a meal or bit of cake, if it can be afforded. Even if it can't, there's always a traditional song we sing as the new couple crosses the threshold of their home. And we have our own little ceremony, where they make their first fire, toast a bit of bread, and share it. Maybe it's old-fashioned, but no one really feels married in District 12 until after the toasting.

I try to catch Peeta's eye in the elevator, even though I still don't know what I'm going to do, it mostly centers around not letting him die still, but he isn't looking back at me. He's spaced out, clearly still hung up on his plans and plots. What was he going to do? I wasn't sure, but I felt very intimidated by it. I know he isn't an idiot. I know he's capable of manipulating people, especially with his words and the thought that he has three full, uninterrupted minutes tonight with the whole nation unsettles me.

The other tributes have already gathered offstage and are talking softly, but when Peeta and I arrive, they fall silent. I realize everyone's staring daggers at my wedding dress. Are they jealous of its beauty? The power it might have to sway the crowd?

Finally Finnick says, "I can't believe Cinna put you in that."

"He didn't have any choice. President Snow made him," I say, somewhat defensively. I won't let anyone criticize Cinna.

Cashmere tosses her flowing blonde curls back and spits out, "Well, you look ridiculous!" She grabs her brother's hand and pulls him into place to lead our procession onto the stage. The other tributes begin to line up as well. I'm confused because, while they all are angry, some are give us sympathetic pats on the shoulder, and Johanna Mason actually stops to straighten my pearl necklace.

"Make him pay for it, okay?" she says, and I swear I see a glimmer of a tear in her eye.

I nod, but I don't know what she means. Not until we're all sitting out onstage and Caesar Flickerman, hair and face highlighted in lavender this year, has done his opening spiel and the tributes begin their interviews. This is the first time I realize the depth of betrayal felt among the victors and the rage that accompanies it. But they are so smart, so wonderfully smart about how they play it, because it all comes back to reflect on the government and President Snow in particular. Not everyone. There are the old throwbacks, like Brutus and Enobaria, who are just here for another Games, and those too baffled or drugged or lost to join in on the attack. But there are enough victors who still have the wits and the nerve to come out fighting.

Cashmere starts the ball rolling with a speech about how she just can't stop crying when she thinks of how much the people in the Capitol must be suffering because they will lose us. Gloss recalls the kindness shown here to him and his sister. Beetee questions the legality of the Quell in his nervous, twitchy way, wondering if it's been fully examined by experts of late. Finnick recites a poem he wrote to his one true love in the Capitol, and about a hundred people faint because they're sure he means them. By the time Johanna Mason gets up, she's asking is something can't be done about the situation. Surely the creators of the Quarter Quell never anticipated such lover forming between the victors and the Capitol. No one could be so cruel as to sever such a deep bond. Seeder quietly ruminates about how, back in District 11, everyone assumes President Snow is all-powerful. So if he's all-powerful, why doesn't he change the Quell? And Chaff who comes right on her heels, insists the president could change the Quell is he wanted to, but he must not think it matters much to anyone.

By the time I'm introduced, the audience is an absolute wreck. People have been weeping and collapsing and even calling for change. The sight of me in my white silk bridal gown practically causes a riot. No more me, no more star-crossed lovers living happily ever after, no more wedding. I can see even Caesar's professionalism showing some cracks as he tries to quiet them so I can speak, but my three minutes are ticking quickly away.

"So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?" He says after finally quieting the crowd.

"Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding...but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just...the most beautiful thing?" I don't have to look at Cinna for a signal. I know this is the right time. I fall back on Cinna for this, the dress would be enough to show my upset.

I begin to twirl slowly, raising the sleeves of my heavy gown above my head.

When I hear the screams of the crowd, I think it's because I must look stunning or something. Then I notice there is something rising up around me. Smoke. From fire. Not the flickery stuff I wore last year on the chariot, but something much more real that devours my dress. I begin to panic as the smoke thickens. Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage. Somehow I'm afraid to stop because my flesh doesn't seem to be burning and I know Cinna must be behind whatever is happening. So I keep spinning and spinning. For a split second I'm gasping, completely engulfed in the strange flames. Then all at once, the fire is gone.

I slowly come to a stop, wondering if I'm naked and why Cinna has arranged to burn away my wedding dress.

But I'm not naked. I'm in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it's the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeve into the air, and that's when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves, or should I say my wings. Because Cinna had turned me into a Mockingjay.

I'm still smoldering a little, so it's with a tentative hand that Caesar reaches out to touch my headpiece. The white had burned away, leaving a smooth, fitted veil of black that drapes to the neckline of the dress in the back. "Feathers," says Caesars. "You're like a bird."

"A Mockingjay, I think," I say, giving my wings a small flap. "It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token."

A shadow of recognition flickers across Caesar's face, and I can tell he knows that the Mockingjay isn't just my token. That it's come to symbolizing so much more. That what will be seen as a flashy costume in the Capitol is resonating in an entirely different way throughout the districts. But he makes the best of it.

"Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!" Caesar gestures for Cinna to rise. He does, and makes a small, gracious bow. And suddenly I am so afraid for him. What has he done? Something terribly dangerous; an act of rebellion in itself. And he's done it from me. I remember his words...

"_Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself."_

…and I'm afraid he has hurt himself beyond repair. The significance of my fiery transformation will not be lost to President Snow. I don't want to lose Cinna after what he's been to me.

The audience, who's been stunned into silence, breaks into wild applause. I can barely hear the buzzer that indicates that my three minutes are up. Caesar thanks me and I go back to my seat, my dress now feeling lighter than air.

As I pass Peeta, who's headed for his interview, he doesn't meet my eyes still. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to watch him.

Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared on screen together a year ago. Their easy going give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heat-wrenching moments, like Peeta's confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that's on everyone's mind.

"So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you've been through, finding out about the Quell?" asks Caesar.

"I was in shock. I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next..." Peeta trails off.

"You realized there was never going to be a wedding?" asks Caesar gently.

"Caesar," Peeta began, looking out into the spellbound audience then down, then finally up at the man. "Do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?"

"I feel quite certain of it," says Caesar.

"We're already married," says Peeta quietly and the air in my lungs rushes out of me. The relief was so much that the crowds' astonishing reaction nearly goes unnoticed by me and I have to bury my face in the folds of my dress so they can't see the immense alleviation in my eyes.

"But...how can that be?" asks Caesar.

"Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don't know what it's like in the other districts, but there's this thing we do," says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting.

"Were your families there?" asks Caesar.

"No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss' mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it," Peeta continues to say and the more he talks, the more _I_ start to believe him. "And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us."

"So this was before the Quell?" says Caesar.

"Of course before the Quell. I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew," Peeta says, starting to let his upset show. I wince at the anguish on his face. "But who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere–I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?"

"I couldn't, Peeta." Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. "As you say, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers have made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch.

"I'm not glad," says Peeta and that hits me personally. I feel my stomach knot up, unbearably, and in seconds my pulse is hammering with guilt. "I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially."

This takes Caesar aback. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?"

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta, bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby."

I freeze at this. In one moment it seems as though Peeta has turned my world completely upside down. How did he find out? Did Haymitch tell him? Why didn't he confront me? These questions race through my head as I struggle out of my seat. My sweat is cold as ice as it slides down my neck; Contrasting grotesquely with my flushed, boiling hot skin.

I corner Peeta as he comes out of his interview. He opens his mouth to speak, "Katniss I—

But I don't allow him the chance to finish. I bash my arm against his throat, pinning him to the wall and crushing his windpipe. "What the hell was that Peeta? Who the fuck told you? And who made it your right to tell the whole damn country?" I shout. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. _Damn Hormones._

Haymitch and Effie come running towards us, several peacekeepers following. Haymitch motions for them to hold off a minute. "You! You told him didn't you?" I accuse, I relinquish my hold on Peeta and move towards Haymitch.

"Sweetheart, I didn't tell him anything. You did." Haymitch says. I pause, considering his words. It wouldn't be in his nature to lie. He would claim all responsibility with a grin. I turn back to Peeta, who's rubbing his throat and staring at me with widened eyes and confusion written across his face.

"Y—you're pregnant?" He stutters. And I just stare at him my mouth gaping like a fish, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, the entire weight of the situation seems to crash in on me all at once. My lungs seem to be devoid of air. My legs shake beneath me and then everything is black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Stepping into the Blaze**

When I come to, I find myself being held up by Haymitch. I judge that I've only been out for a few minutes as no one has moved except for the peacekeepers who had gone back to their original positions. I groan and pull myself to my feet, fighting off Haymitch's attempts to help. I feel like screaming and disappearing all at the same time, my head feels as though a train has crashed into it.

My eyes lock in on Peeta, challenging him to say something. I don't break the eye contact and eventually he speaks up, "Does Gale know?" I stare at him incredulously for a moment before letting out a dry bark of a laugh. It sounds cruel, even in my ears; there is not an ounce of humor in it.

The hurt in Peeta's eyes stops me dead, _he actually believes it's Gale's. _I feel something snap inside me and suddenly I let everything lose. "WHY WOULD GALE KNOW PEETA? WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT IT WAS HIS KID? HUH? DO YOU THINK I GO HANDING IT OUT TO EVERY FUCKING GUY I MEET? I'M SOME SORT OF WHORE? AFTER EVERYTHING, YOU HAVE THE _AUDACITY_ TO ASK ME SUCH A STUPID FUCKING QUESTION!" My voice cracks at the last word and I become aware of the tears sliding down my cheeks.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't give him the opportunity to finish. I spin on my heel, my dress billowing behind me, and storm off to my room.

I lay in the soft goose feather pillows of the capitol hotel, trying to enjoy the luxury while it lasts. Tomorrow we head into the arena. Within the next week, the baby and I will be dead. I mentally curse myself for thinking of the baby; I know I'm only making this harder on myself. I can't help but feel somewhat attached to it, though. I mean, I created it. I've failed the baby though; I failed it before it could even take its first breath.

This thought would normally unleash a torrent of tears, but tonight I am completely cried out. Tonight, all that remains is a stony resolve to let Peeta win. After he wins he can go home, start a real family and have tons of little children. In the long run, my little baby will only matter to me.

I'm torn from these thoughts by a soft knock on my door. I wait, not willing to respond, that would be too easy. After a few moments, during which my heart pounds in my ears at an alarming rate, Peeta walks through the door. His face is solemn, but I recognize a determination in his eyes, one that assures me and at the same time terrifies me.

He lays down beside me on the bed staring at me with his piercing blue eyes. He doesn't speak; instead he reaches out and begins to twirl my hair in his calloused fingers. This goes on for several more minutes before I gently place my hand over his. He looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak.

"Do you hate me?" I whisper softly, looking down, as I am unable to meet his gaze.

"Why would I hate you katniss? This is my fault, I got you into this, I should've stopped. You were drunk and I took advantage of you." He replies; his hurt tone feels like a kick to the chest. Why does he have to be so selfless?

"When are you going to be able to see that it was so much more than that, Peeta? I love you, no matter what. This changes nothing about my feelings towards you. It doesn't matter, I'll be dead in a couple of days." I say earnestly, making sure to stare back into his gaze, making him understand the full meaning of what I'd just said.

"No." He says firmly, the hard determination present in his eyes again. "You _will_ make it out of this Katniss. I won't let you and our baby die in that arena."

"Peeta, I don't want to live without you. What am I going to do when the nightmares come, when I flashback to the games? Who's going to hold me and tell me how much he loves me? Peeta, I can't do this alone."

"Gale could do those things for you." He says his voice barely above a whisper. This ignites a spark in me and I shove him off the bed angrily. He lands with a hard thud on the hardwood floor and looks up at me with honest confusion.

"I am so sick of that Peeta Mellark! Gale and I would never work! And do you know why? Because Gale isn't you. Gale isn't the one that I cry out for at night, he's not the one that I want wrapped around me when I wake up every morning."

"Katniss, I just want you to be happy. Do you honestly think I could live with myself if you and the baby died? If and when you make it out Katniss, you will take care of our child. You won't shut down like your mother did. You'd carry on for our child, to give him or her a life that we could only dream of. You'll take them away from Panem, where the capitol can't hurt them."

I nod my head in resignation; I swear I will find away to get us out alive: All of us, our little family.

We don't sleep. I lay there, my back morphed into the broad expanse of his chest. I know he doesn't sleep because the arm around my waist has a hand entwined with mine and he plays with my fingers, almost nervously.

Is there anything we could truly say to each other?

We are both against each other. The two of us are in a game of tug a war and there is no way to know who will win. We both have different factors on our sides. There is no way I could say something to him about the child without pointing out a fatal flaw in my determination.

I'm miffed still by what is happening to me. Peeta and I finally come together. I can _finally_ convince him that my feelings are real. We have a baby on the way and within the week, all of that will cease to exist.

Look how much pain it causes me. And Peeta. And for the matter of the public images' sake; the citizens of the Capitol. I keep seeing their reaction in my head and can't help but feel a slight hope. A futile hope because the choice has been made and this one isn't in the middle of an erratic flight like the last bad choice, this is thought out. I'm saving Peeta.

"I still intend for you to make it home Peeta, I don't care what you think or what I have to do to get you there. To get _us _there." I add that last little bit to appease him, knowing full well that if it came down to it, I would lay down my life for him in a heartbeat.

He doesn't reply, just merely buries his face into my hair, groaning. His hand around mine squeezes, until I can't even feel the blood circulating through it. I continue on, "I can't live without you Peeta. I'll be nothing, an empty shell of what I once was. Is that any way to live?"

It's silent for a long time after that and I wonder if he's somehow fallen asleep, to store up precious minutes of rest. Before I can hope too much, Peeta shifts and his lips are skimming over the skin underneath my ear. "You _still _have no idea, don't you?" he whispers to me. "The effect you have on people. You won't be nothing, Katniss. I know what happened tonight. It means more. After the Games there will be other things like what happened tonight and I know that you'll move forward."

'Move forward.' Those words stay with me. As if I could just shrug off his death. As though, even if I have to watch him take a spear through the chest for me, I could just merely, move forward, completely forget Peeta, forget what we had. As though I could just take Gale's outstretched hand and start a life with him, not caring about the one that I had already started, the one that Peeta was now asking me to leave behind.

Cinna and Portia arrive before I can find the words to reply with. Peeta leaves me. Tributes enter the arena alone, but before he goes he gives me a light kiss. "See you soon," is his form of finishing our conversation, if you wanted to call it one.

Cinna, who will help dress me for the Games, accompanies me to the roof. I'm about to mount the ladder to the hovercraft when I remember. "I didn't say good-bye to Portia."

"I'll tell her," says Cinna.

The electric current freezes me in place on the ladder until the doctor injects the tracker into my left forearm. Now they will always be able to locate me in the arena. The hovercraft takes off, and I look out the windows until they black out. Cinna keeps pressing me to eat and, when that fails, to drink. He tries to guilt me into doing it by using the baby's need for it. I succumb to that. I can't knowingly be a bad mother.

I manage to keep sipping water, thinking of the day of dehydration that almost killed me last year. I can't even imagine what untold damage could be put upon the child, feeding off of me, if that were to happen again. Then I drink more, thinking of how I'll need my strength to keep Peeta alive.

When we reach the Launch Room at the arena, I shower. Cinna braids my hair down my back and helps me dress over simple undergarments. This year's tribute outfit is a fitted blue jumpsuit, made of very sheer material, that zippers up the front. A six-inch-wide padded belt covered in shiny purple plastic, a pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles.

"What do you think?" I ask, holding the fabric out for Cinna to examine.

He frowns as he rubs the thin stuff between his fingers. "I don't know. It will offer little in the way of protection from cold or water."

"Sun?" I ask, picturing a burning sun over a barren desert.

"Possibly. If it's been treated," he says. "Oh, I almost forgot this." He takes my gold mockingjay pin from his pocket and fixes it to the jumpsuit.

"My dress was fantastic last night," I say. Fantastic and reckless, but Cinna must already know that.

"I thought you might like it," he says with a tight smile.

We sit, as we did last year, holding hands until the voice tells me to prepare for the launch. He walks me over to the circular metal plate and zips up the neck of my jumpsuit securely, like I was a young child off on her way to the first day of school. My chest grew tight.

"Remember, girl on fire," he says. "I'm still betting on you." He kisses my forehead and steps back as the glass cylinder slides down around me.

"Thank you," I say, although he probably can't hear me. I lift my chin, holding my head high the way he always tells me to, and wait for the plate to rise. But it doesn't. And it still doesn't.

I look at Cinna, raising my eyebrow for an explanation. He just gives his head a slight shake, as perplexed as I am. Why are they delaying this?

Suddenly the door behind him bursts open and three Peacekeepers spring into the room. Two pin Cinna's arms behind him and cuff him while the third hits him in the temple with such force he crumples immediately to his knees. But they keep hitting him with metal-studded gloves, opening gashes on his face and body. I'm screaming my head off, banging on the unyielding glass, trying to reach him.

I'm struck by how in seconds the handsome face of Cinna's is transformed into a slab of sliced meat, right before my eyes. The Peacekeepers pay me no heed, no matter how many threats I shout, as I throw myself against the glass. All my words are bouncing back at me. They drag his limp body from the room, only leaving behind smears of blood as evidence to what they've just done.

Sickened and terrified, I feel the plate begin to rise. I'm still leaning against the glass when the breeze catches my hair and I force myself to straighten up. Just in time too, because the glass is retreating and I'm standing free in the arena. It doesn't make a difference, I still feel helpless and suffocated. Something seems to be wrong with my vision. The ground is too bright and shiny and keeps undulating.

I squint down at my feet and see that my metal plate is surrounded by blue waves that lap up over my boots. Slowly, shaking and sinking back onto my haunches, nearly kneeling into the disk-platform, I raise my eyes and take in the water spreading out in every direction.

I can only form one coherent thought.

_We're not in the forest anymore._

**A/N: **wow! 3 chapters in 3 days, your guys' reviews have really motivated me! I'm so grateful for all of your reviews and I can't express to you how much they mean to me. It's my goal to have one of those stories with some ridiculous number of reviews that's into the hundreds and I thank all of you for helping me there! Well, now we're into the arena, let's see how this all plays out!

**TheBoyWithTheBread12: **Well I am very glad to see you're enjoying it and I hope this chapter feeds your addiction a bit more!

**Kayola4: **I just realized I forgot to respond to you in the last update and I am so horrified that I did! You have been with me since the beginning, commenting on every single chapter and motivating me to update. Thank you so much!

**Rochay97: **I know! I absolutely hate that, although I don't think I've ever had as big of a secret as Katniss.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Girl on Fire, Extinguished**

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Game announcer, hammers my ears. I have less than a minute to get my bearings. Then the gong will sound and the tributes will be free to move off their metal plates. But move where?

I can't think straight. The image of Cinna beaten and bloody, consumes me. Where is he now? What are they doing to him? Torturing him? Killing him? Turning him into an Avox? Obviously his assault was staged to unhinge me, the same way Darius' presence in my quarters was. And it _has _unhinged me. All I want to do is collapse on my plate.

An image flits across my mine, Peeta as he holds a small child. One with thick, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. _Our child. _This thought seems to keep me grounded so I hang on to it with all of my might. I have to be strong in order for that to come true. I have to be strong to save Peeta and our child.

_Where are you? _I can still make no sense of my surroundings. I am forced to blink back tears. Again, hormones are interfering with my natural processes. _Where are you? _I demand an answer of myself and slowly the world comes into focus. Blue water. Pink sky. White-hot sun bearing down. All right, there's the Cornucopia, the shining gold metal horn, was about forty yards away. At first, it appears to be sitting on a circular island. But on closer examination, I see the thin strips of land radiating from the circle, like the spokes on a wheel. I think there are ten to twelve, and they seem equidistant from one another. Between the spokes, all is water. Water and a pair of tributes.

_Ingenious placement as always my faithful Gamemakers from hell._

That's it, then. There are twelve spokes, each with two tributes balanced on metal plates between them. I look to my side and find old Woof from District 8. He's about as far to my right as the strip of land on my left. Beyond the water wherever you look, a narrow beach that is carpeted by dense greenery beyond. I scan the circle of tributes, looking for Peeta, but he must be blocked from my view by the Cornucopia. I try to keep that from distressing me.

My hands are still trembling slightly, my forehead still clammy. It's impossible for anyone to shake off something like what I just saw so quickly. I catch a handful of water as it washes in and smell it. But I already taste the salt in the air. The wind is hot and musky. Humid. Just to be sure I touch the tip of my wet finger to my tongue. As suspected, it's saltwater. Just like the waves Peeta and I encountered on out brief tour of the beach in District 4. Not drinkable, but it seems at the very least, clean.

There are no boats, no ropes, not even a bit of driftwood to cling to. No, there is only one way to get to the Cornucopia. When the gong sounds, I don't even hesitate before I dive to my left. There is no time to waste.

It's a longer distance than I'm used to, and navigating the waves takes a little more skill than swimming across my quiet lake at home, but my body seems oddly light and I cut through the water as gracefully as I can manage.

I reach the strip of sand emanating from the center circle of the Cornucopia and my sinuses are searing inside of my nose. Maybe it's the salt. The water drips, and whips from my body as I sprint down the sandy stretch for the Cornucopia. _Bow and arrow. _That's what I need. It's my survival from it all. I still can't see Peeta. I can see no one else converging from my side of the Cornucopia, although the golden neck blocks a good portion of my view.

I don't let the thought of adversaries slow me down. The only way to get rid of them is with a weapon. I'm not in any way, shape or form, about to throw myself into a fistfight. If I have to, yes. With other options? Absolutely not.

Actions now, observations later. I'm thinking like a Career, I have to shake feelings and get my hands on a weapon.

Last year, the supplies were spread out quite a distance around the Cornucopia, with the most valuable closest to the horn. But this year, the booty seems to be piled at the twenty-foot-high mouth. My eyes instantly home in on a golden bow just in arm's reach and I yank it free.

Hunter's instinct; there's someone behind me. I've trained my mind to notice things like the soft shift in the sand and, possibly even to pick up on the change of airflow. I pull an arrow from the sheath that's still wedged in the pile and arm my bow, turning on the balls of my feet.

Finnick, glistening and gorgeous, stands a few yards away, with a trident poised to attack. A net dangles from his other hand. He's smiling a little, but the muscles in his upper body are rigid in anticipation. "You can swim, too," he says. "Where did you learn that in District Twelve?"

His voice shocks something in me. Not so much his, but any voice would have done it. The surreal lightheadedness in me seems to fade, knocked hard in the face, and it pulls me up from my bubble of drive Cinna's situation left me in. I'm more aware in a way. My face muscles stiff and unyielding.

I find my voice. "We have a big bathtub."

"You must," he says. "You like the arena?"

"Not particularly. But you should. They must have built it especially for you," I say with an edge of bitterness. It seems like it, anyway, with all the water, when I bet only a handful of victors can swim. And there was no pool in the Training Center, no chance to learn. Either you came here a swimmer or you'd better be a really fast learner. Even participation in the initial bloodbath depends on being able to cover twenty yards of water. That gives District 4 an enormous advantage.

For a moment we're frozen, sizing each other up, our weapons, our skill. Then Finnick suddenly grins. "Lucky thing we're allies. Right?"

I tense, expecting some sort of trap. My eyes home in on the trident that he grips in his left hand. It's lowered, not in any position for an attack. Still, I don't entirely trust Finnick. _Watch the hips_, _it will tell you exactly where they intend to go, _I recall the words of advice my father had given me after a group of older girls had cornered me after school. They left me beaten, bloodied, and thirsting for revenge. The next day I came back and broke the lead girl's nose, the other two girls backed down without a fight after their leader was defeated.

Finnick's hips are relaxed, most of his weight shifted on his right leg and his left leg slightly cocked. His feet are flat however, so he is in no position to run or pounce. I let my guard down, but only slightly. I do this partly because I know Peeta wanted Finnick in our alliance, plus he is one of the stronger tributes. If I intend to get us out alive, I'll need him.

"Right." I nod tersely. Still uneasy.

"Duck!" Finnick suddenly tenses, this powerful command so much different than his usual calming tone. His trident wizzes over my head and makes a sickening sound as it sinks into flesh. The tribute from district 5 falls, and a cannon goes off. Finnick reaches over and tugs his trident free, "Don't trust one and two." He says, turning back to me. The usual playful glint in his sea-green eyes is absent, replaced by a hardened will to survive.

I have no time to question this and I quickly work a sheath of arrows free, "Each take one side?" I say. He nods and continues to toss through the piles of supplies. About four spokes across, Enobaria and Gloss are just reaching land. Either they are poor swimmers or they believe the water is laced with something far more deadly; it's too late to dwell on these thoughts though, the decision has been made.

"Anything useful?" Finnick calls over. I scan the pile and fine maces, axes, bows and arrows, spears, tridents, knives, and…. Nothing else.

"Only weapons, what about you?" I call back.

"Same, let's go."

I grab a bow and arrow and fire off a few rounds at Enobaria and Gloss. Enobaria has expected this and easily dodges. But Gloss is not quite so lucky and I sink an arrow into his neck. He falls to the ground, clutching his throat as blood trickles from his mouth. After a few moments, he is still and another cannon sounds.

I grab a few knives, an extra sheath of arrows, and a few other objects, and tuck them into my belt. The altercation with Gloss and Enobaria has left all my senses on high alert. I know that the other tributes are close, and most likely within shooting range. I am especially wary of the three remaining careers, as it is obvious they will have a prior alliance.

All of this is wiped from my mind, however, when I spot Peeta, still stranded on his plate. I dart off in his direction, Finnick following after me without question. When I reach the water, I begin to strip off my weapons, preparing to dive in to get Peeta. Finnick places a hand on my shoulder, "I'll get him." He says. "It's best not to exert yourself, in your condition."

Finnick dives in and I immediately notch an arrow and raise my bow. Most of the tributes are still on their plates, wary of the water as many cannot swim. The careers have already overtaken the cornucopia, quickly forgetting the fallen Gloss.

Finnick has reached Peeta and is now towing him towards the shore. I glance around to make sure no one is coming and then help Finnick with Peeta's clumsy form.

"Hello, Love." He says sweetly, wrapping his arms around my middle for a quick embrace. I feel the familiar butterfly sensation and kiss him sweetly on the lips. After a few moments, I turn back to Finnick, "Who else should we group with?" I ask bluntly. I am nothing if not to the point.

"Well I can't leave Mags behind," he says with a grin, "she's the only one that actually likes me."

I nod, "Anyone else?"

Peeta pipes up from beside me, "what about Johanna? She seems to know what she's doing and I think it would be smart to pair with her." As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. I'm not sure what it is, but Peeta suggesting her doesn't sit well with me.

"I see Mags, but no sign of Johanna yet." Finnick says, scanning the arena. I follow his line of sight to see Mags splashing ashore surprisingly quickly for a woman her age. She immediately begins to tromp over in our direction.

"Over there!" Finnick says excitedly, pointing at a group of struggling forms about 100 yards down the shoreline. I squint and make out Johanna with the tributes from district three, Wiress and Beetee. She appears to be dragging them out of the water.

"Johanna!" Finnick shouts, half sprinting, half skipping towards her. "Look who I have!" He says in his singsong voice.

I can swear I hear her mutter a bitter "fantastic" under her breath, but I decide not to push it. Johanna is not the type to mess with.

"Here," She says gruffly, gesturing to Wiress and Beetee, who are slowly pulling themselves off the ground. "I got them for you."

I nod at her statement, once again choosing not to question. Peeta comes up behind us, slightly out of breath. I frown; I know his leg must be bothering him from all the exertion. I unconsciously reach out and grab his hand, giving it a little squeeze for support.

"Okay, so what's our plan?" Peeta voices what I believe is on all of our minds.

"I think we should head for the jungle, we need to find water and some sort of food source. Plus, it will provide shelter." I say.

"I disagree, we don't know what's in there and out here we can see what's coming at us. Besides, I want to find Blight. We got separated when I had to grab these two." She jerks a thumb at Wiress and Beetee who are now listening intently to the conversation.

"I have to go with Katniss on this one. I think the trees are our best bet. You can catch up with Blight later on." Finnick says. Johanna grumbles but begins to gather her things and head towards the jungle. We all follow suit when I suddenly here Johanna let out a scream of warning and I hear the unmistakable sound of a spear whistling through the air.

My body seems to move in slow motion as I turn around, but I turn to late and I hear the sickening sound of metal piercing flesh and I feel a white-hot pain. I can't tell where the pain is originating from; it's too overwhelming. My thoughts become jumbled and it is hard to tell what from what as my vision is beginning to blur.

The last sight I see is Peeta rushing to my side and the others fighting off some unforeseen attacker. Then, finally, the world goes dark.

**A/N: okay so first and foremost thank you for all the reviews, they are very much appreciated. Secondly, I have a question. How does one join a community or get a beta reader? I'm new to this whole thing and it has been suggested that I get in on a community and get a beta reader, but I'm not sure how to exactly. If you guys could help that would be great!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: A Spark**

The blackness consumes me and I feel like I'm free falling. In this odd state, nothing exists, not even myself. I feel, hear, and know nothing. All I feel is a numbing emptiness that washes over my entire body.

After awhile, the blackness begins to subside, I pick up on the little things. I can wiggle my toes and twitch my pinkies. I can feel the soft dirt beneath my body, emanating heat from the sun. My shoulder throbs uncomfortably, sending bursts of white-hot pain through my body. Miles away, I can hear voices; their tone is tense and almost angry. I am about to succumb back into the comfortable silence I've resided in previously when I pick out a familiar sound. _Peeta._

His words are lost to me and I struggle against the mist that clogs my mind in order to hear him. His voice is like a glass of water on a hot day, pouring over me and giving me something to hold on to. Peeta's voice stirs up the memories that have been hidden by the fog in my head. I remember the thud of the spear as it went through my body; I remember the start of the games and the oddly shaped arena. Finally, with dull horror, I remember the baby. Is it still alive? Did I hurt it when I fell? A million more questions pop into my cluttered mind. It is the thought of the baby though, that finally gets me to push through the pain and fog and into the real world.

I groan and my eyes flutter open. I wince at the sharp pricks of light that pierce my unadjusted eyes. "Katniss," Peeta breathes and I feel his hot breath on my cheek. As my eyes adjust, I make out his soft features. His rounded, full face that always seems to bear slight traces of a smile; his beautiful, icy blue eyes, and the slight curve of his lips. I drink in his image and he stares back at me patiently.

After a few moments though, my prior dread sets in again. "The baby." I croak; my voice hoarse from its time spent unused.

At this statement, a cloud of darkness clouds over Peeta's face. His usually bright features marred by a pained expression. "Katniss—a couple hours after you passed out—you—you started bleeding a bit—and I—I didn't know what to do," He takes a sharp intake of air and I can see the pleading in his eyes. He blames himself and he wants me to understand how badly he feels. Any other day my I would melt over this, but all I can think of is the baby.

"Peeta, is the baby okay?" I say through gritted teeth.

"I don't know, Katniss." He whispers, his voice cracking. At this, I feel a new sort of emptiness setting in; an ice cold numbness that attempts to shield me from the pain I know will eventually come. I search myself for any sign of the baby, a flicker to give me a signal that it's alive. _I just want some sort of sign_, I plead silently.

I feel nothing. Nothing, except for the icy cold numbness that flows through my veins. I stay there, frozen, for what seems like an eternity. Then I feel the numbness begin to crack and the pain floods through me. My throat closes up and I succumb to my broken sobs. I lean against Peeta's broad chest, and he holds me, rocking me back and forth. I feel his silent tears slide down his chin and onto me.

In this moment the audience, the rest of our alliance, Haymitch, Prim, all of them are forgotten. This is about Peeta and me, and our pain. This is about us.

...

"We should move." Johanna says the next morning, "We've been here for awhile and we're down to eight tributes." I look around the group and notice the two empty holes I had neglected to acknowledge last night. Wiress and Mags were lost at some point while I was out; there absence has definitely had an effect on the morale of the group.

Finnick seems a little more serious than usual, his handsome face bearing signs of mourning. Johanna seems a little less biting than usual towards the rest of us, keeping her sarcastic quips to herself. Beetee, though, seems to have taken the biggest hit of all. He stares forlornly at the ground, his face betraying the fact that he's been crying. I feel a stab of pain in my heart for him, I know how hard Wiress's death must be for him. I can't imagine what it would be like for me to lose Peeta in this arena.

"I agree, we're putting ourselves at a higher risk for an attack the longer we sit here." Finnick says, pulling me back into the conversation.

"You're right, let's pack up and head out." I say emotionlessly. Everyone stares at me after I speak. I suppose they have good reason to, I haven't said a word since yesterday's conversation about—No, I can't think of that now. Now, I need to focus on surviving.

"Katniss, I don't know if you'll be able to go anywhere with that shoulder." Peeta says softly. I consider his words and glance at the wound to my right shoulder. The spear went cleanly through me, Tearing through the ligaments and muscle as easily as a knife through butter. It left a gaping hole about the diameter of a small teacup, leaving my right arm nearly completely useless. It's been bandaged haphazardly with a combination of mine and Peeta's suits.

"I'll be fine." I say steely, still examining the shoulder.

"Great," Johanna says with little enthusiasm, "Before we leave though, we need to discuss what you've missed. Beetee over here," she jerks her thumb towards the sorrowful little man, "made an interesting discovery on the arena; it's a clock. There's a different, terrifying scenario on each section and each come to life at that specific time. So far, we've managed to determine a few of the different hours: at twelve, there's a lightning storm; at one there's a blood rain; two, a particularly nasty acid fog, that's how you got a few of the burns on your shoulders; three, is full of the game maker's mutts; four—four is jabber jays," a flicker of pain flits across her face at the mention of this, "and the only other one we know is ten, which is a tidal wave."

I nod my head, digesting this new information. My stomach turns at how sick this arena is. It's a gross reminder of the ticking time that's left on each of the tribute's clocks. None of us knows how many more minutes we're going to have, maybe an hour, a day or two if we're lucky.

"Who's left?" I say, shaking my head of these thoughts; all they'd do is get me into trouble.

"The careers have held strong, Enobaria is the one that threw the spear, so you know. And then there's us. That's it." Her voice sounds dead as she says this.

I nod and then stand up to gather my things. My ripped tendons scream in protest, but I grit my teeth and push through the pain. I grab my bow and arrows, wondering if they'll be of any use to me now, and I also pocket a knife, and pick up a spear; that bitch Enobaria deserves some payback for what she did to my baby.

Peeta notices my selections, but wisely keeps his thoughts to himself. After several minutes, we're ready to head out. I grab Peeta's hand with my good arm and follow in step behind the others.

...

We come to a stop at the beach which Finnick informs me is the twelve to one wedge. We'll be safe here for another eight hours. I set down my equipment and rest in a body-sized hole I make in the sand. It's roughly four in the morning and the stars are bright in the sky. I remember as a little girl, my father told me that every person in the world had a star that was created the moment they were conceived.

He would scoop me up and put me on his shoulders, pointing out a star and telling me it was mine. After he died, I would search and search for his star, trying to find which one was his. It brought me a sort of comfort, to think a part of him still resided in this world. Even as I got older, when I missed him, I'd look to the sky for comfort. I wonder now, where my baby's star is. If it's burning brightly with newfound light, or if its shine has already been dulled with death.

I'm torn from these thoughts by a warm body that wraps itself around mine. Peeta's legs entangle themselves in my own and he nuzzles into my hair, sighing to himself. I turn to face him and I struggle with the pain I feel at the guilt that still shows in his eyes.

"It was a boy, I think." I say, voicing the unspoken presence that we can both feel. He doesn't respond so I continue, staring back at the pitch-black sky. "A little boy with thick, curly brown hair and bright blue, cobalt eyes. He had your button nose and my full lips, his eyelashes were so thick Peeta, you should have seen them." I lower my voice as I reminisce on my vision before the games, "It was what I saw on the platform, you know. It was what gave me the motivation to leave it and head for the cornucopia. I saw him and you; you were both so happy." My voice cracks and I turn back to Peeta, noting the tear tracks streaming down his face.

I know that for once, he cannot say anything. For once, I'm the one that is comforting him. I know that my words have helped us somehow, that somehow we'll come out better from this. At least, that's what I tell myself.

He sniffs, and brushes a piece of hair from my face, his eyes brimming with tears, "I keep holding on to the possibility that we didn't lose her, that she's still there somehow. She'd be a fighter like you, with my blonde hair that would hang in little ringlets around her face. And your grey eyes would shine out from under her hair, just as bright as yours do. She'd have your angular build and she'd love to hunt, being fearless like her mother. We wouldn't have to worry about her getting picked on because she'd be street smart like you and know how to hold her own. I'd put her up on my shoulders and carry her around like a little princess, even though she'd see herself as more of a warrior." Peeta stops and his tears come down more freely now.

I lean forward and kiss his forehead gently, then I move my head downwards and brush his lips against my own. He pushes up against me and locks his lips with mine, with his kiss I can feel the pain, the sorrow, the regret, but most of all I feel his love, that still exists despite everything. The kiss lasts for what seems like seconds and forever all at the same time.

It's interrupted by a man's quiet clearing of his throat. We both twist around to see Beetee, Finnick, and Johanna standing over us. I'm shocked to see that everyone, even Johanna, has tears swimming in their eyes. I briefly wonder how much they've heard, but then I realize I don't care. After all, this is being shown on national television and I know the game makers wouldn't want to pass on something as dramatic and theatrical as this.

"We're sorry to interrupt," Finnick says, and they do seem genuinely sorry, "But Beetee wants to tell us something."

Beetee looks up, he's been fiddling with a wire that he has wrapped up in his hands, "I think I know how to take care of the careers." He says quietly, his voice still full of loss.

"Do you think they've figured out about the clock?" I ask, curious as to what Beetee's cooked up.

"If they haven't, they'll figure it out soon enough, though perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion," says Beetee. "So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap."

He swiftly draws a circle and divides it into twelve wedges. It's the arena, not rendered in Peeta's precise strokes but in the rough lines of a man whose mind is occupied by other, far more complex things and plagued with the loss of a loved one. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?" Beetee asks. There's nothing patronizing in his voice, and yet I can't help thinking he reminds me of a schoolteacher about to ease children into a lesson. Perhaps it's the age difference, or simply that Beetee is probably a million times smarter than the rest of us.

"Where we are now. On the beach," says Peeta. "It's the safest place."

_Sometimes, _I counter mentally.

"So why aren't they on the beach?" says Beetee.

"Because we're here," says Johanna impatiently.

"Exactly. We're here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?" says Beetee.

I think about the deadly jungle, the occupied beach. "I'd hide just at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us."

"Also to eat," Finnick says. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I'd know the seafood's safe."

Beetee smiles at us as if we've exceeded his expectations. "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and at midnight?"

"The lightning bolt hits the tree," I say.

"Yes. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water, but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at the moment will be electrocuted," says Beetee.

There's a long pause while we all digest Beetee's plan. It seems a bit fantastical to me, impossible even. But why? I've set thousands of snares. Isn't this just a larger snare with a more scientific component? Could it work? How can we even question it, we tributes trained to gather fish and lumber and coal? What do we know about harnessing power from the sky?

Peeta takes a stab at it. "Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up."

"Oh, it will, but not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it," says Beetee.

"How do you know?" asks Johanna, clearly not convinced.

"Because I invented it," says Beetee, as if slightly surprised. "It's not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is neither the lightning natural lightning nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," she says glumly.

"Don't worry about the wire—it will do just what I say," Beetee assures us.

"And where will we be when this happens?" asks Finnick.

"Far enough up in the jungle to be safe," Beetee replies.

"The Careers will be safe, too, then, unless they're in the vicinity of the water," I point out.

"That's right," says Beetee.

"But all the seafood will be cooked," says Peeta.

"Probably more than cooked," says Beetee. "We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?"

"Yes. Nuts and rats," I say. "And we have sponsors."

"Well, then. I don't see that as a problem," says Beetee. "But as we are allies and this will require all our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you four."

"Why not?" I say. "If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them. And even if we don't and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source."

"I say we try it," says Peeta. "Katniss is right."

Finnick looks to Johanna and raises his eyebrows. He will not go forward without her. "All right," she says finally. "It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they'll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves."

Beetee wants to inspect the lightning tree before he has to rig it. Judging by the sun, it's about eight or nine in the morning, Peeta and I have sat up nearly the whole night talking. We have to leave our beach soon, anyway. So we break camp, walk over to the beach that borders the lightning section, and head into the jungle. Johanna leads the group with Finnick taking up the rear. They're the two most able-bodied people at the moment to it makes sense. I am sandwiched in the middle between Beetee and Peeta. As we head off to the trees, my only thought is _I hope this works_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Burning Through What We Should Have Had**

When we reach the Lightning tree, we split up into groups, dividing up the work. Finnick and Beetee head for the tree, finnick guarding and Beetee examining. I attempt to tap a tree for water with my good arm after Peeta shows me how. And Johanna hunts nearby, gathering nuts and spearing rats.

Johanna, Peeta, and I meet up and start a fire. We cook the few rats that Johanna's managed to kill and roast the nuts she got. Beetee is still messing around with the tree and finnick guards him faithfully. At one point, Beetee rips off a sliver of the bark and tosses it in the direction of the forcefield. It bounces off and hits the ground, glowing. After several minutes it returns to its normal color.

"Well that explains a lot." Beetee says, talking more to himself than the rest of us. He then turns back to the tree and continues to examine it.

A little while later we hear the sound of clicks coming from the sector adjacent to us. Everyone stops and listens intently to the odd noise that signals it is 11 o'clock.

"It's not mechanical." Beetee says.

"It sounds like insects, maybe beetles or something close." I say.

"Something with pincers." Finnick adds.

The sound intensifies as though listening to our conversation. It seems excited by the close proximity of living flesh. I shiver at the thought of the gamemakers designing a bug that could strip us down to the bone. Tearing through our flesh and devouring us. It makes me sick just thinking of it.

"We should move." Johanna suggests. "We only have an hour until the lightning starts."

We nod and begin to pack up camp. Shouldering our equipment and snuffing the fire. We do not go far though, just to the blood rain section. Here we have another picnic of sorts, eating nuts and rats from the jungle. At Beetee's request I use my good arm and awkwardly climb a nearby tree. I watch as the lightning strikes, signaling that it's noon. It's dazzling, even from this distance. The tree glows a hot bluish-white color as it's hit. I shimmy down the tree and report my findings to Beetee, who absorbs the information with a grin.

We take a circuitous route back to the ten o'clock beach. On the walk, somehow Johanna and me end up in the back and we watch, trying not to snicker as the fur ball pounces like a rabbit after Peeta, even coming out onto the sand. He shoos it a little, throwing nuts into the forest, but it always comes back after retrieving them. In the end, before enduring the sixteenth time it tries to climb up his legs, Peeta lets it sit on his shoulder as he walks. Everyone gets a kick out of it.

The sand is smooth and damp, swept clean by the recent wave once we reach our destination. Beetee essentially gives us the afternoon off while he works with the wire. Since it's his weapon and the rest of us have to defer to his knowledge entirely, there's the odd feeling of being let out of school early.

At first we take turns having naps in the shadowy edge of the jungle, but by late afternoon everyone is awake and restless. We decide, since this might be out last chance for seafood, to make a sort of feast of it. Under Finnick's guidance we spear fish and gather shellfish, even dive for oysters. I like this part best, not because I have a great appetite for oysters. I only ever tasted them once, in the Capitol, and I couldn't get around the sliminess. But it's lovely, deep down under the water, like being in a different world. The water's clear, and schools of bright-hued fish and strange sea flowers decorate the sand floor.

Peeta's just pried open an oyster when I hear him give a laugh. It seems to be coming often today, and I can't help but try to commit it to memory.

"Hey, look at this!" He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. "You know, if you put enough pressure on a coal it turns to pearls," he says earnestly to Finnick.

"No, it doesn't," says Finnick, dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that's how clueless Effie Ticket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressed into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain.

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. "For you." I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give my strength in the final moments.

"Thanks," I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan.

Just as we're about to eat, a parachute appears bearing two supplements to our meal. A small pot of spicy red sauce and yet another round of rolls from District 3. Finnick, of course, immediately counts them. "Twenty-four," he says, then adds, almost confused, "Again."

I wrinkle my nose in confusion and Peeta notices, "We've been getting rolls from our sponsors lately. We've got thirty two including the ones from last time." He whispers to me.

"Why is that confusing then?" I whisper in reply, noting Finnick's earlier tone.

Peeta just shrugs and turns back to the rolls. The salty fish flesh, the succulent shellfish. Even the oysters seem tasty, vastly improved by the sauce. We gorge ourselves until no one can hold another bite, and even then there are leftovers. They won't keep, though, so we toss all the remaining food back into the water so the Careers won't get it when we leave. No on bothers about the shells, the waves should clear those away.

There's nothing to do now but wait. Peeta and I sit at the edge of the water, hand in hand, watching the setting sun lower in the pink sky. I reach my hand into my belt and touch the smooth surface of the pearl. I rub my fingers over it, appreciating the comfort of the small object. I hope that it will make it back to district twelve. Surely my Mother and Prim will know to return it back to Peeta before burying my body.

….

Beetee asks Finnick to assist him, and the rest of us stand guard. Before he even attaches any wire to the tree, Beetee unrolls yards and yards of the stuff. He has Finnick secure it tightly around a broken branch and lay it on the ground. Then they stand on either side of the tree, passing the spool back and forth as they wrap the wire around and around the trunk.

At first it seems arbitrary, then I see a pattern, like an intricate maze, appearing in the moonlight on Beetee's side. I wonder if it makes any difference how the wire's placed, or if this is merely to add to the speculation of the audience. I bet most of them know as much about electricity as I do.

The work on the trunk's completed just as we hear the wave begin. I've never really worked out at what point in the ten o'clock hour it erupts. There is build up, then the wave itself, a multiple of them, and of course, the aftermath of the flooding. But the sky tells me ten-thirty.

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o'clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.

"I want to go with them as a guard," Peeta says immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I know he's less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.

"You're too slow. Besides, I'll need you on this end. Katniss will guard with her good arm, she'll still be threatening to them even though she's injured," says Beetee. "There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now." He hands the coil to Johanna.

I don't like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee's right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. At the second, I know I can't think of any alternative ideas, and for a minute, I'm sure of the fact that if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it's Beetee. Then I don't.

Call it a gut feeling. Or, maybe, I'm just paranoid. I was fully prepared to accept this, until I felt woozy in my stomach. Shifting my eyes to the ground, I don't let anyone of the alliance see my sudden doubt.

"It's okay," I tell Peeta, despite my feeling. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up."

"Not into the lightning zone," Beetee reminds me. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

Like earlier, I take Peeta's face in my hands. My words say one thing, but my eyes boring into his, say something else entirely. "Don't worry." _I want you to leave, don't stay here without me. _"I'll see you at midnight." _Meet me somewhere safe. _I give him a kiss, because he's hiding his bewilderment terribly, and when I pull back further, I see the curt nod of his head. I let go, and turn to Johanna. "Ready?"

"Why not?" says Johanna with a shrug. She's clearly no happier about being teamed up than I am. But we're all caught in Beetee's trap, no matter that I've just conveyed to Peeta now was the time to run. "You guard, I'll unwind. We can trade off later."

Without further discussion, we head down the slope. In fact there's very little discussion between us at all. We move at a pretty good clip, one manning the coil, the other keeping watch. For a second, I'm worried about Peeta. How will he do it? Will he be able to slip away unnoticed? Is he going to wait awhile, until the lightning strikes? About halfway down, we hear the clicking beginning to rise, indicating it's after eleven.

"Better hurry," Johanna says. "I want to put a lot of distance between me and that water before the lightning hits. Just in case Volts miscalculated something."

"I'll take the coil for a while," I say. It's harder work laying out the wire than guarding, and she's had a long turn.

"Here," Johanna says, passing me the coil.

Both of our hands are still on the metal cylinder when there's a slight vibration. Suddenly the thin golden wire from above springs down at us, bunching in tangled loops and curls around our wrists. Then the severed end snakes up to our feet.

It only takes a second to register this rapid turn of events. Johanna and I look at each other, but neither of us has to say it. Someone not far above us has cut the wire. And they will be on us at any moment.

My hand frees itself from the wire and has just closed on hilt of my knife when the metal cylinder smashes into the side of my head. The next thing I know, I'm lying on my back in the vines, a terrible pain in my left temple. Something's wrong with my eyes. My vision blurs in and out of focus as I strain to make the two moons floating up in the sky into one. Fear encases my throat, irrationally brought on by the thought of the tracker jacker venom effecting me. It's hard to breathe, and I realize Johanna's sitting on my chest, pinning me at the shoulder with her knees.

There's a stab in my right forearm, the bad one. I try to jerk away but I'm still too incapacitated. Johanna's digging something, I guess the point of her knife, into my flesh, twisting it around. Gagging ensues as I think about the pain of the spear in my shoulder just a few days ago. There's an excruciating ripping sensation and warmth runs down my wrist, filling my palm. She swipes down my arm and coats half my face with my blood.

"Stay down!" she hisses. Her weight leaves my body and I'm alone.

_Stay down? _I think. _What? What is happening? _My eyes shut, blocking out the inconsistent world, as I try to make sense of my situation.

Footsteps coming. They're so loud, for a minute I'm elated, prone to thinking heavy steps like that, not trying to conceal their whereabouts, are Peeta's. That hope was squashed, when I realize it's two pairs, and I hear Brutus' voice. "She's good as dead! Come on, Enobaria!" Feet moving into the night.

Am I? I drift in and out of consciousness looking for an answer. Am I as good as dead? I'm in no position to make an argument to the contrary. In fact, rational thinking is a struggle. This much I know. Johanna attacked me. Smashed that cylinder into my head. Cut my arm, probably doing irreparable damage to veins and arteries, and then Brutus and Enobaria showed up before she had time to finish me off.

Without a trace of panic, I note, that the alliance is over. Finnick and Johanna must have had an agreement to turn on us tonight. I knew we should have left this morning. I don't know where Beetee stands, but I get a slight spark of lightness knowing I've already told Peeta to run.

_Peeta! _My eyes fly open in full blown panic now. Would he have left in time? Or was he waiting up by the tree, holding out from escaping for the plan. Standing off guard and unaware to the alliance break. Maybe Finnick has even killed him already.

No," I whisper. That wire was cut from a short distance away, by the Careers, not anyone at the base of the lightning tree. Finnick and Beetee and Peeta–they all can't know what's going on down here. They can only be wondering what has happened, why the wire has gone slack or maybe even sprung back to the tree. This, in itself, can't be a signal to kill, can it? Surely this was just Johanna deciding the time had come to break with us. Kill me. Escape from the Careers. Then bring Finnick into the fight as soon as possible.

I don't know. I don't know. I only know that I must get back to Peeta and keep him alive. With effort, I close my eyes to clear the scene, and when I open them again, there are the tree tops, vines intertwined like peoples hands. Over the downy mess of leafs, the darkening sky, no longer pink but tinged silver from the moon.

Sitting up is nearly impossible, and then using every ounce of my will I drag myself up the side of a tree to my feet. It's lucky I have something to hold on to because the jungle's tilting back and forth. With the familiar gagging feel heavy in my throat, I lean forward and vomit up the seafood feast, heaving until there can't possibly be an oyster left in my body. Trembling and slick with sweat, I asses my physical condition.

As I lift up my damaged arm, blood sprays me in the face and the world makes another alarming shift. The jungle is transformed, the colors deeper, the lights hazier. Greens and dark blues dancing in the shadows, silvers and hidden burgundies of the nature whirling around me. My mouth is swollen as summer fruit, and I cling to the tree until things steady a little.

Then I take a few careful steps to a neighboring tree, pull off some moss, and without examining the wound further, tightly bandaging my arm. Better, definitely better not to see it. Then I allow my hand to tentatively touch my head wound. There's a huge lump but not too much blood. Obviously I've got some internal damage, but I don't seem in danger of bleeding to death, at least not through my head.

I dry my hands on moss and get a shaky grip on my bow with my damaged left arm. Secure the notch of an arrow to the string. Make my feet move up the slope.

Peeta. My dying wish. My promise: To keep him alive. My heart lifts a bit when I realize he must be alive because no cannon has fired. Maybe Johanna was acting alone, knowing Finnick would side with her once her intentions were clear. Maybe he did run the moment I was gone. Although, that might be true, I know I can't _hope_ for the best and lye back down. I think of how Finnick looked to Johanna for confirmation before he'd agree to help set Beetee's trap. There's a much deeper alliance based on years of friendship and who knew what else. Therefore, if Johanna has turned on me, I should no longer trust Finnick.

I reach this conclusion only seconds before I hear someone running down the slope toward me. Neither Peeta nor Beetee could move at this pace. I duck behind a curtain of vines, concealing myself just in time. Finnick flies by me, his skin shadowy with medicine, leaping through the undergrowth like a deer. He soon reaches the sight of my attack, must see the blood. "Johanna! Katniss!" he calls. I stay put until he goes in the direction Johanna and the Careers took.

Trying to keep the world straight, I move at the fastest pace my feet will allow. My head throbs with the rapid beat of my heart. The insects, possibly excited by the smell of blood, have increased their clicking until it's a continuous roar in my ears. No, wait. Maybe my ears are actually ringing from the hit. Until the insects shut up, it will be impossible to tell. But when the insects go silent, the lightning will start. I have to move faster. I have to get to Peeta.

The boom of a cannon pulls me up short. Flinching unbalances me. I fall flat on my back, losing hold of my bow, gasping in twin shock and pain. Someone has died. I know that with everyone running around armed and scared right now, it could be anybody. But whoever it is, I believe the death will trigger a kind of free-for-all out here in the night. People will kill first and wonder about their motives later.

I try to force my arms to push me back up, but my wrists wobble like water and slip out from under me the moment I try to use them. Twisting and turning around desperately, something snags at my face, starts to wrap around me. Tangling around my neck and arms. A net! This must be one of Finnick's fancy nets, positioned to trap me, and he must be nearby, trident in hand.

I have to close my eyes. Sights are hurling past me. Trees blurring into the vines, leafs morphing into splotches of green, and the moon, now a streak of white in the stars, no longer circular.

"Peeta!" I call out, searching for a any sign of my boy with the bread.

A soft moan issues in answer and I whip around to find a figure lying higher up on the ground. "Beetee!" I exclaim. I hurry and kneel beside him. The moan must have been involuntary. He's not conscious, although I can see no wound except a gash below the crook of his elbow. I grab a nearby handful of moss and clumsily wrap it while I try to rouse him. "Beetee! Beetee, what's going on? Who cut you, Beetee?" I shake him in a way you should never shake an injured person, but I don't know what else to do and get answers.

As I'm interrogating the useless man, I look down to see in Beetee's bloodied fist he's holding a blade, one I know Peeta had been carrying earlier. It's wrapped loosely in wire.

I'm more focused on the sight of Beetee and what he's done with the knife. Perplexed, I stand and lift the wire, confirming it's attached back at the tree. It takes me a moment to remember the second much shorter strand that Beetee wound around a branch and left on the ground before he even began his design on the tree. I'd thought it had some electrical significance, had been set aside to be used later. But it never was, because there's probably a good twenty, twenty-five yards here.

I squint hard up at the hill and realize we're only a few paces from the force field. There's the telltale square, high up and to my right, just as it was this morning. What did Beetee do? Did he actually try to drive the knife into the force field? And what's the deal with the wire? Was this his backup plan? If electrifying the water failed, did he mean to send the lightning bolt's energy into the force field? What would that do, anyway? Nothing? A great deal? Fry us all? The force field must mostly be energy, too, I guess. The one in the Training Center was invisible. This one seems to somehow mirror the jungle. But I've seen it falter when my arrow hit. The real world lies right behind it.

"Katniss!" Peeta's voice breaks through my thoughts. What is he doing? He must've figured out that everyone is hunting us.

I can't protect him. I can't move fast or far and my shooting abilities are questionable at best. I do the one thing I can to draw the attacker away from him and over to me. "Peeta!" I scream out. Yes, I will draw all the enemies within the vicinity towards me. Me, and the lightning tree which will soon become a weapon in and of itself. I will protect my boy with the bread.

My bow and arrow lift into position, my right arm shaking with exertion. If I can take them out before Peeta has to fight, will he survive? Will we make it out of here before the lightning burns us to a crisp? Or can I get him to go, inexplicably, and I'll have the enemies here, using the tree in of itself as a weapon?

"Katniss!" Peeta's voice rings out again. But I don't answer. He's far from me. "Katniss!" Peeta howls in distress. I silently say good-bye to my boy with the bread, my one time lover, and my best friend.

Beetee still breathes faintly beside me. He will die with me. As will, possibly, my other ally. My little ally, with his blue eyes just like Peeta's. Johanna and Enobaria will die. Peeta is alive. Two cannons have sounded. Brutus, Chaff. The only two we have yet to see. That will leave Peeta with only one tribute to kill. And that is the very best I can do. One enemy.

_Enemy. Enemy. _The word is tugging at a recent memory. Pulling it into the present. The look on Haymitch's face. _"Katniss, when you're in the arena..." _The scowl, the misgiving. _"What?" _I hear my own voice tighten as I bristle at some unspoken accusation. _"You just remember who the enemy is," _Haymitch says. _"That's all."_

Why would I need reminding? I have always known who the enemy is. Who starves and tortures and kills us in the arena. Who will soon kill everyone I love.

My bow drops as his meaning registers. Yes, I know who the enemy is. And it's not Enobaria or Joanna or Finnick.

I finally see Beetee's knife with clear eyes. My shaking hands slide the wire from the hilt, wind it around the arrow just above the feathers, and secure it with a knot picked up in training.

I rise, turning to the force field, fully revealing myself but no longer caring. Only caring about where I should direct my tip, where Beetee would have driven his knife if he'd been able to choose. My bow tilts up at the wavering square, the flaw, the...what did he call it that day? The chink in the armor. I let the arrow fly, see it hit its mark and vanish, pulling the thread of gold behind it.

My hair stands on end and the lightning strikes the tree.

A flash of white runs up the wire, and for just a moment, the dome bursts into a dazzling blue light. I'm thrown backwards to the ground, body useless, paralyzed, eye frozen wide, as feathery bits of matter rain down on me. I can't reach Peeta. I can't even reach my pearl. But I have something in reach, some last piece of love, comfort. My injured arm strains and I grasp my middle, right over the place where my son would be. Then for what seems like the billionth time, the world ceases to exist.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: A Flickering Light**

I blink my eyes rapidly as a white hospital room comes into focus. I rack my brains for any clue as to what's happened. The last thing I remember is shooting at the chink in the force field, the tree being struck by lightning, and then everything being consumed with light. I have absolutely no idea where I am or who I'm with. A plan quickly formulates in my mind and I assess my body.

Aside from a slight headache (probably from stress, I assume) I feel fine. I flex my right arm, and to my surprise it responds. I look over the limb, quite shocked that it didn't need to be amputated. The only remnants of the wounds I had back in the arena are three scars; one, a pink line travelling vertically down my forearm, and the others two twin puckered wound, starting near the base of my shoulder and exiting just above the blade. I look over the rest of my body and stop short at my abdomen.

The once flat, muscular surface is now considerably rounded and full. _The baby._ I think, recalling the gut wrenching pain I felt when I thought I had lost it, but the evidence at the moment points in the contrary and I feel tears well up in my eyes. As the first one falls, I feel a slight movement; sort of a fluttering sensation and a grin stretches across my face. It's my baby, letting me know he's still here. _Or she, _I correct myself. I'm going to try and stay objective towards the sex of the baby (even though it's obviously a boy).

My joy over the baby is interrupted by the whoosh of air that results from the opening of the sliding doors. I jerk my head up, expecting to see my boy with the bread with his bright blue eyes that I miss so much. I can't tell exactly how long I've been out, but even a minute without Peeta is like a lifetime (God, I sound like such a girl, I'll just blame it on the hormones). Instead of a sea of glistening blue, however, I'm met with a solid wall of steel gray. Seam eyes. Gale and I stare at each other for several minutes, neither of us daring to back out or break the hardened silence.

"Katniss," Gale nods, his voice cold, "You're awake." I flinch at the use of my real name. It's so formal. I miss his jeers of Catnip and his big bear hugs. Now he just hangs back awkwardly in the doorway.

"Yeah, I guess I am. How long was I out?" I ask, I'm not going to dance around his little moods. I'm not going to baby him and ask him what's wrong. Whatever it is, he can deal with it.

"Over two months, the doctors weren't sure if you were going to make it. Once you were far enough along, they were going to cut _that,_" he says with a sneer, wrinkling his nose and gesturing towards my abdomen, "Out of you so the thing might have a chance."

"_That?_ What the hell is wrong with you, Gale? That is my _child._" I draw out the last sentence, enjoying the way he recoils from the word.

"That is a little bastard that resulted from bread boy taking advantage of you! You were drunk! He had no right, you were mine." The last part he says through gritted teeth and I am shocked by the amount of hatred that plays across his face.

"_Yours?_ And what the fuck do you mean by that? I'm some piece of property to you? Are you pissed that some other boy got to play with your toy in the sandbox, Gale, is that it? And besides, how do you know the details of that night? That's none of your fucking business Gale!" My voice gets higher and higher with each statement and I can feel my face light up red with rage. The monitors I am attached to give shrill little beeps of warning like nails driving into my ears. The small headache I had has now blossomed into a full-blown migraine.

"Katniss, I loved you." He said with a pained expression, and I almost want to reach out to him and comfort him, but then his face contorts again, "He took that away. I hear him in his mandatory counseling sessions, the way he talks about you. He had no goddamned right! He stole you from me!"

"No Gale, you lost me all by yourself." I say, watching with a sick pleasure as silent tears streak down his face. We stand there like that for several more minutes before a slew of nurses come into the room.

"Lay back, dear." An older nurse says, but I stand rigid, staring down Gale, my hands crossed protectively over my stomach. She sighs and turns to him, "Let's go, I gave you your privacy, but enough is enough, you're bothering my patient, General Hawthorne."

Gale turns on his heel and storms out the door, "That boy." The nurse clucks to herself. On a normal occasion I would have laughed at her expression and motherly tone, but I have too much information to digest right now. "You know, he's been in here every day, along with that other boy we like so much, Senator Mellark. They're both so sweet. General Hawthorne's just a little confused." She says in her grandmotherly voice, patting my hand as she checks the machines.

I feel sick to my stomach; the adrenaline rush of victory has worn off and has been replaced by a sickening sense of guilt. I lean over the side of the bed and empty the contents of my stomach, the acrid taste burning my throat. The nurse pats me on the back and pushes me into the pillows, moving to clean up the mess. I zone out, shutting everything out, pushing the room away, and I fall into a fitful sleep.

...

"When is she going to wake up again?" A man says, his voice plagued with worry. _Peeta, _I recognize with a twinge.

"Time will tell, she's been out for three days, that fight with Hawthorne did a number on her." Another, gruffer voice says, _Haymitch._

"I'll kill him if I catch him in here again, I swear to God." I am shocked to hear these words come out of his mouth; my boy with the bread could never be so cruel.

"Don't say things you don't mean, boy. Just concentrate on what's going on with the politics. I want you following them and I want you watching Coin like a dog, ya' hear me?"

"Yeah, I know, it's so hard with her like this though."

An empty silence fills the room and I struggle to the surface. Peeta needs me. My eyelids flutter and I find myself staring into the blue eyes of none other than my Peeta Mellark. "Katniss," He breathes, his face so full of longing that it kills me.

I struggle to sit up and Peeta knows what I need, he closes the distance and our lips lock together. Saying all the things we want to say but can't. I feel his want, his pain, his guilt and he feels my love, my hurt, and my joy. All these conflicting emotions make the kiss so much sweeter and I savor the way he melts on my lips. We break apart slowly, and I drink in his image.

He's dressed in some sort of uniform and it looks official. His eyes carry purple bags that age him by years. He looks thirty, not seventeen. His blonde hair is sticking out in odd directions, most likely from him running his hand through it, a habit that I find incredibly endearing. I smile at him, and then wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, never intending to let go.

"It's good to see you too, sweetheart." Haymitch chuckles, grinning slyly at the two of us.

I peck him on the cheek and he makes a big show of rubbing it off, but I know deep down he's pleased. I then turn back to Peeta, "So what did I miss?" I ask earnestly.

Peeta sighs and looks at Haymitch who nods for him to proceed, "Well for starters, we're in district thirteen." I roll my eyes at him for stating the obvious, "With the sporadic ending of the games, the rebel forces have gained strength. We currently have men fighting in seven, eight, and four. We have officially gained eleven, ten, and nine and for the most part we're just making our way towards the capitol with a few changes in the game."

I interrupt him, "What about twelve?"

He rubs his face in his hands and refuses to meet my gaze, "Peeta, what about twelve?" I urge, feeling panic rise in my throat.

"Katniss, there isn't a district twelve anymore."

…

I lean back in my seat and look around the round table. I see strangers peering at me from every direction and I suddenly feel too open, too exposed. I zero in on the woman at the front of the room, her sharp features and hardened gaze that of someone who will stop at nothing to win. Her cool grey eyes, a lighter, colorless color, so different than my own, hold something deadly. Something I don't trust.

I turn to Peeta who's listening to some man with a bushy white beard talk about the rebel movement in four, I zoned out a while ago, his monotonous voice lulling me into oblivion. Peeta glances in my direction and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. I shoot him a forced smile and turn away; I don't want him to see how uncomfortable I am.

My eyes somehow manage to wander over to the one person I can't stand the sight of, Gale. General Gale Hawthorne. Apparently, while I was out, Gale managed to assert himself into a high position in thirteen's military. I don't remember the details (I don't really care, to be more specific), but bottom line is that Coin trusts him, which Haymitch says means that we don't trust him.

"We have one final matter to discuss." The sharp voice of Coin pierces the room, turning every head her way, "The matter of the Mockingjay." Her cold eyes settle on me and now I understand how it feels to be on the other side of one of my arrows. Her stare seems hungry, as though I am some sort of prey. I shift in my seat uncomfortably, but I do not break her gaze. "I will discuss this matter privately with Ms. Everdeen, the rest of you are dismissed." The people seated around the table shuffle around and gather their things, clearing the room. Peeta, Coin, and I are the only ones that remain after a few minutes.

"I want to stay." Peeta says.

"Senator Mellark, This is a private matter above your ranking." I give a startled look to Peeta at the title coin has mentioned. He gives me a look that tells me we'll talk about it later.

"I want him to stay." I say, using a tone that I hope leaves no more room for discussion.

"Very well," She looks displeased by this, but carries on, "Katniss, we need you to be the face of our revolution. The people need something to feed their hope and you have somehow managed to capture their attention. This is far more valuable than any weapon or secret that we have against the capitol. The people's support is what matters and we need you to contain it for us."

Without breaking her gaze I reply stonily, "I don't believe I follow you, would you care to elaborate?" I know exactly what she wants and it makes me sick. She's a repeat of Snow, but sneakier about it. At least Snow makes his intentions clear. She wants me to hold the public's attention so that she can go about and do what she wants. If anything goes wrong, I'll take the fall for it, not her. I would merely be a puppet, dancing for her on a political stage with the people of Panem judging my performance, not caring about the strings that would hold me in place. My stomach gives a little flip and I place my hand protectively over my bulging stomach; this is not the kind of life I want my child to be born into.

"Well, we would put you into battle as a general and capture images of you fighting, to raise morale amongst the troops. We'd also have you do commercial advertisements that we can use once we hack the capitol's systems again. You would be doing this country a great service, Ms. Everdeen." She says this pleasantly enough, but I can feel the icy edge that lies underneath the words. Like a snake slithering through the grass, poised to strike and inject its deathly venom.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm nearly seven months pregnant, so I doubt going into battle would be healthy right now, but hell, what do doctors know these days?" I know this will inflame the situation, and that it probably isn't the wisest move, but I don't care right now.

"Ms. Everdeen, I implore you to understand the delicacy of the entire situation. Your—_Condition_, does present some challenges, which is why we have already come up with a solution of sorts."

"It's not a _condition_, Miss coin, it's a baby. I believe I've already cleared this with General Hawthorne."

"Yes, I heard about your little altercation and I advise you and General Hawthorne to deal with your personal matters in private."

I nod my head curtly and keep an impassive look on my face, "So what is this 'solution' you're proposing? I admit I'm curious."

"With fertility being a gift that so many have lost in this war, you going into battle pregnant would not cast a positive light on the revolution. In several weeks, you will hit the point where we can have you deliver and the child will have an acceptable chance at survival. We will induce you so your recovery time will be significantly shorter than a cesarean. This way we can send you into battle."

"How high are my child's chances?" I ask slowly, shocked that I'm even considering this.

"Anywhere from fifty to eighty-five percent, I believe your child's chances of survival will be considerably higher considering how strong its mother is."

"No." Peeta speaks up from beside me, "There's no way in hell I'll let you put my baby and my—" Peeta pauses, "—and Katniss in danger so you can get a few promos to let you look good."

I squeeze his hand to let him know he's voiced exactly what I wanted to. "I agree, there's no way I'm going to put my baby in harm's way just so you can make yourself look better. I'm revolted that you'd actually suggest it."

"I was afraid you'd think that. I advise you to think carefully about this, Miss Everdeen, Senator Mellark. As I firmly intend to get my battle shots, one way or another." Her eyes are cold and flat as she says this and I feel a shiver of fear run down my spine for my unborn child.

"Is that a threat, President Coin?" Peeta says, his hands clenched in fists at his side.

"It is only what you perceive it to be, Admiral Mellark. I hope you'll consider what we talked about tonight, Miss Everdeen and I would do so rather quickly, this is a time sensitive matter, as I'm sure you understand." With this she turns and strides out the door.

I turn to Peeta and he wraps his arms around me, smoothing my hair, "Don't worry, Katniss, we'll figure this out." I don't say anything, the image of coin's cruel smile playing across my mind.

...

I lay across the down comforter that stretches across the bed, A pillow over my face. I lay motionlessly, hoping to block out the world. I find myself wishing that I had stayed in that coma; it would have been so much easier there, underneath the layers of blackness. They would have kept me safe like a blanket, wrapping me in empty darkness. _You can't afford to think like that,_ a voice inside my head says. I know it's right; I have to think about the baby now. It's not just about me.

_It hasn't been just about you since your father died,_ Another voice whispers. This brings me thoughts of Prim, I saw her briefly the other day.

_"Katniss!" The girl says, her blue eyes wide with excitement. She runs forward and embraces me while I pat her awkwardly on the back. _Stop it you idiot, it's Prim, _I tell myself, but I still feel a little uncomfortable. After all, I haven't seen her for over three months._

"_How do you feel?" She asks._

"_Alright," I say. "It's good to be awake." I take a moment to really look at her. She's cut her hair shorter, and it lacks its normal sleek shine as well. Her face is sharper, much more serious and it's lost all of its baby fat. She seems so grown up; completely different from the little girl I left back in twelve._

"_So guess what!" she says excitedly._

"_hmm?"_

"_I'm going to be a medic! I have classes every day and plus I get to work on patients with mom!"_

"_So she's actually functioning? The stress of losing her home isn't 'too much for her'?" I attempt to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but I know that I've failed at the way Prim's face falls._

"_She's really trying, Katniss." She whispers._

"_I'll believe it when I see it, Little Duck." I say, brushing back a piece of loose hair from her face and tucking it gently behind her ear._

"_Katniss, I'm not your little duck anymore, I've grown up. Things are different now and you need to realize this." I'm shocked by the anger that flashes across her face. I don't understand what I've done to upset her._

"_Look," she sighs, "I have to leave, I'll come visit you when I can." She gets up and walks out the door._

"_Bye, little duck." I whisper, the words feeling final on my tongue._

I feel the bed sink in from the weight of another person and I tear myself from these thoughts to sit up and look at Peeta. I can feel his blue eyes analyzing me, "Hello, love," He says simply.

"What do you want?" I say rather coldly.

"Katniss, don't shut me out," He says moving closer to me, "We need each other more than ever if we're going to get through all this."

I sigh and lean against him, taking in his warmth, "So tell me how you managed to become a senator." I say, wanting his soothing voice to ease my aching heart. He leans back and we both stretch across the bed, I snuggle even closer into him.

"Well, I guess the idea got stuck in her mind when twelve was bombed. I went in with Gale. We went into the seam just after the town was hit and we managed to get most of the people out before the bombs reached it. That's what got us both promoted to general. I was bumped up to admiral after the invasion of four. We went in there to get Annie Cresta, who married Finnick just before you woke up. They wanted to wait for you, but in times like these…." I nod my head to show him I understand and don't mind. I haven't seen Finnick lately and I guess this explains it. He continues on, "My unit was in charge of the justice building along with Gale's and another man, Boggs's. My unit was to lead the operation, storming the front. We managed to get through alright and Boggs went in the back, we closed off the main floor. Gale's unit was supposed to go through the roof and secure the second floor. We didn't anticipate the capitol's hovercrafts getting there so fast. They picked off Gale's men one by one. Two managed to get to safety and were unharmed, the rest were killed. Gale was shot twice in the chest. Boggs and I gave the order for the men to pull back to the hovercrafts for an aerial attack, and they got back safely. I went back for Gale and the others. The rest—the rest doesn't matter. I got them out and we gained four. I was promoted after Coin realized I was good at strategizing, she wanted me to use my talents in politics as well as war. End of story."

Peeta's face is filled with pain and I wonder what all happened on that rooftop. I don't question him, knowing that this is hard on him. "Don't you ever do anything like that again, Peeta Mellark." I say softly. He sits up and looks down on me, confused.

"You could've been killed and I don't want to live in this world without you." I say, and I know that his is the truth. He kisses me softly and I kiss him back, enjoying his tenderness.

"I love you." He whispers.

"I love you too."

We sit there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms. "Katniss," Peeta whispers, I turn my body so that I'm facing him. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"Of course, Peeta." I say confused by this question.

"And you love me?" He raises his eyebrows in question and I nod, concerned. "Katniss, will you marry me?"

**A/N: Thank you for all that have reviewed! I'm in awe of how many reviews that have accumulated and now over 70 people are following this story! That's absolutely insane! Thank you for all of your guys' continued support!**

** : **Thanks for your review!No, I don't want him to be hijacked, it broke my heart in the book when that happened so I think the trauma of war will play enough of a factor in damaging our characters' psyches, I don't think it's necessary to add that in as well.

**Pumpkinking5: **Thank you for noticing and I really tried, it was tough because obviously tensions would be running high at that point, but I didn't want to over do it.

**Theboywiththebread12: **Thank you for that! It put a smile on my face

**TarynMara: **Thank you, keeping true to Suzanne Collins's original characterizations is extremely important. I want to make sure that the relationships and personalities are true to the original books.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Did you guys not like the last chapter very much? I only got two reviews! I thought with a bombshell like that they'd be pouring in. Oh well, maybe this will excite you guys a bit! I can't believe that there are 74 followers on this story! It's absolutely insane! Just think, if every one of you left a review there'd be well over a hundred….. Okay I am done being an annoying author now! Finally, A special thank you to PumpkinKing5 and Kayola15 for their continued support of this story.**

**Chapter 11: A flare**

Peeta's eyes seem to look right through me as I process this question, I sigh, "Peeta—

He cuts me off, placing his hand over mine, "Katniss, don't over analyze this, please. I love you and you love me. I know how you feel about marriage, but frankly I don't give a damn. I want to be able to call you my wife not just Katniss Everdeen, that girl I got pregnant while she was drunk. Katniss Everdeen, that girl I've loved since I was five and didn't have the balls to talk to until I had to kill her in the Hunger Games. I want you and everyone else to understand how much I love you."

I'm shocked at Peeta's speech; it's so unlike him. It's assertive and frank; so different from the passive boy I've known for so long. I like it. Whatever's gone on while I've been out has toughened Peeta up, he's more confident and firm, but that doesn't change my thoughts on marriage, "Exactly Peeta, I love you, you love me, why does it matter what other people think? I don't care, you shouldn't either."

"Katniss," he sighs, "That's not it at all. Marriage is beautiful, it joins us for life and maybe even after death, if there is anything after death, which I hope there is. I want you and I to be together forever, Katniss."

"I understand that, but that doesn't mean we have to get _married."_

"Fine, if you won't do it for us than what about the baby? How do you think it's going to feel living in this world as a bastard child? People will make fun of him or her; do you want that? Or what about Coin? Maybe if we get married and give her something to work with, she'll let the baby be. Even if you want to analyze it like you always do, it makes sense."

I pause letting what he's saying sink in. I know he's right, but still, _marriage. _I've never wanted to get married, ever. I've seen the way people become once they're married; they depend on each other. If something happens to one of them, the other becomes useless, unable to function. That's what my mother did.

I don't want to depend on somebody that much, no matter how much I love them. _You already depend on Peeta,_ a voice whispers. _All those sleepless nights he would come into your room, hold you until you succumbed into a dreamless sleep or when he kisses your tears away_. I know that all of this is true, but I can continue to delude myself into thinking it isn't if things stay the way they are. Once things become concrete, like they do in marriage, I'll be forced to give up the façade.

"Katniss, please. I love you." His eyes are heartbreaking; they shine down on me like stars and they make me realize that I'd be willing to go through marriage as long as it's with Peeta.

"Fine, but only because I love you." I say with a smirk, kissing him softly.

He grins and puts his hands on my bulging stomach, "Do you hear that princess? Mommy and Daddy are going to get married. Mommy is actually going to wear a frilly white dress." I slap his hands away playfully.

"Stop it! You're ruining my little hunter. He's going to think he's a girl. Plus, who said that I'm wearing any sort of dress? I'll walk down the aisle in my hunting gear just to spite you." I say sticking my tongue out at him.

"Oh how very mature," He taunts, " Besides my little girl can still hunt even if she's a princess and you are so wearing a dress, even if I have to put you into it myself." He smirks.

"Too bad it's a boy and well, I rather like the sound of that." I say playfully, reaching for his belt buckle.

He groans, "Well I've officially lost, your mother can be _so_ very persuasive sometimes." He says to my stomach as I continue to unbuckle his pants.

"Are you mocking me Peeta Mellark?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Never," He whispers and pulls himself on top of me, kissing me softly on the lips.

...

Haymitch grunts as we finish telling him about our meeting with Coin. He stands and pours himself a drink, then leans back against the bar, rubbing his haggard face.

"I told you we couldn't trust that bitch," he growls.

"As fine and dandy as it is that you were right, Haymitch, we need a plan. What are we going to do about this?" I say, my hands subconsciously placed over my stomach, protecting the baby inside.

"Well I think that's fairly obvious, you're going to have to be induced." He says simply.

"What? The baby might not make it then! I will not put our child at risk." Peeta says.

"Well if you don't have her induced, the baby definitely won't make it." Haymitch replies gruffly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, not liking where this is going.

"Oh tell me you two aren't that naïve? You don't think Coin's just going to walk away from this, do you? That kid," he jabs a finger at my stomach, "means nothing to her. In fact, if she could choose whether it lived or died, she'd probably kill it herself. It's a liability, a weakness in her armor. At least the little thing has a shot if you deliver early. She'll get her way, Katniss. If you don't agree to her terms, she'll probably arrange a little 'accident' for you. She'll kill that kid without hesitation, mark my words."

"So we have no choice then?" Peeta says, anger straining his voice.

"I'm afraid not." Haymitch actually looks sincere when he says this and I shake my head in frustration.

Peeta stands up; he's shaking in fury. He pulls at his hair, exasperated. He leans his head against the wall taking deep breaths. I walk over to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulders, and pull him to me. He rests his head on my shoulder and cries. I know that I'll be the one crying later, but for right now I need to be strong for Peeta.

...0….

I stare at Coin, not daring to blink, her snakelike eyes glaring back at me impassively. "Yes, miss Everdeen?" I came here by myself, Peeta wanted to come, but I insisted that this was something I wanted to do alone.

"I came here to discuss your offer, Peeta and I have chosen to accept it." I feel sick as a cold smile that stretches across her taut face.

"Good, You two have chosen wisely. Although, I am a little surprised at how long you took to accept the proposal, it's been over a week since our little discussion."

"Well, Peeta and I had to discuss it and we've also had a lot on our plates lately; we got engaged the other day."

"Yes, I've heard. Once again you've surprised me with your timing, but then again you were never one to follow traditional ideals."

"Nothing about Peeta and mine's situation is ideal, President Coin. You should know, you're the one making it so difficult."

She clucks her tongue at me, but I keep my face blank, I don't want her to see just how much restraint it's taking me not to kill her right now, "Now Ms. Everdeen, I hope you aren't implying that I have something against you and Senator Mellark. That would be—well, _treasonous,_ wouldn't you say?"

"No, President Coin, I meant no disrespect. I'm offended that you would think such things." I hate this little dance we have going on. We both know exactly what the other thinks of us, yet we cannot say it. I hate politics.

"Very well, Ms. Everdeen." I turn to leave, but she speaks up again, "One more thing, if you don't mind." I turn around, despite the overwhelming urge to run from this office. "Your wedding, I trust you will allow us to handle it? It is a rather delicate and important event, we'll want it to go off smoothly, won't we?" By "us" she means the government of thirteen, it's nearly as bad as the capitol anymore.

I grit my teeth and nod my head, "Of course, _delicate_. I understand. Just let me know when to show up in my dress. May I go now?"

"Yes, just be in the hospital wing in seventeen days." She says that cruel smirk on her face again.

"What?"

"For your delivery, of course."

"That's awfully soon, don't you think?"

"The sooner you deliver, the sooner you're in battle, Ms. Everdeen. Don't forget. You may go now." She dismisses me with a flick of her hand and turns back to her desk. I stand frozen for a few more moments before slowly walking out the door. _Seventeen Days._

...

The next two and a half weeks pass by in a blur of sleepless nights and stress. Peeta tries to leave my side as little as possible, but Coin seems bent on pulling us apart. She keeps sending him on little errands that anyone could do. I really hate that bitch. When he's home, Peeta practically has to force me to eat, the thought of food sickens me as the dark cloud of what is to come hangs over my little family. I hate it. I hate it so much.

I clutch Peeta's hand as I walk through the hospital corridor, My breath catching in my throat as the nurse leads me into a room. I've been dreading this day. My baby's birthday.

The nurse hooks me up to several different machines after I change into a thin paper gown. It crinkles as I turn over to look at Peeta. He flashes me a weak smile and I know he's just as worried as I am. The nurse pulls an IV bag from one of the drawers next to my bed. She hangs it up on the stand and turns to me.

"I'll need your arm, honey. This is the medicine that's going to stimulate your labor." I clutch my arm to my body, unwilling to give it to her.

"Katniss," Peeta says, "come on," He takes my wrist in his hand and I let it go limp as he hands it to the nurse. I watch as she finds a vein and inserts the needle, hooking me up to the medication that could kill my baby.

...

It takes a few hours for me to go into labor. I start feeling contractions at about 2:00 in the afternoon. When I tell Peeta, he stands up and starts to pace around the room. "Do you need anything? Do you want me to get your mom or Prim, Haymitch?"

I shake my head, then pause, "Haymitch." I say, he nods and walks out the sliding doors. It seems like ages before he returns with our old mentor in tow. Haymitch walks over to my bed and surprises me by kissing me softly on the forehead. I look up at him and I'm surprised to see real pain in his eyes.

"I just want you to know that I'm sober, I'm here for you sweetheart. I'm gonna try to be for the baby from now on."

"Why?" I ask simply.

"Believe it or not, I do care about you and lover boy over there. I'd like to think of you as the two kids I never wanted." He gives me a weak smile. "And well this baby's kind of like my grandchild, I'd like to get to see a bit of the little bugger, if you don't mind." I feel tears prick my eyes and I wrap Haymitch in a bear hug. I'd always had a sneaking suspicion that the old man actually had a heart, but it was nice to hear him say it aloud. "Alright, alright, let's not get all sappy here." He says standing up. I try to choke out a laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob.

Peeta sits down on the bed and brushes back my hair, "It'll be okay, I know it hurts." But he knows it's not the contractions that are making me cry.

"What if he doesn't make it?" I say softly.

"_She_ will be just fine."

I manage a laugh at this, "Well I guess we'll manage to settle this argument now won't we?"

"What argument?" Haymitch asks.

"Peeta thinks it's a girl, I think it's a boy." Haymitch nods his head, feigning surprise. I know that he's seen the clip from the games, all of Panem has, but I'm assuming he's not acknowledging it in order to respect our privacy.

"Do you two have any names picked out?" Haymitch asks.

"No," Peeta says, "I guess we'll figure it out when she's here."

"You mean he." I say playfully.

We continue this little banter until my contractions get too intense, then the doctors come in. After awhile, the head doctor turns to me, "On the next contraction you're going to need to push, okay?"

I nod my head vigorously, sweat pouring down my forehead, I grab Peeta's hand and he gives it a comforting squeeze. I feel the contraction and the doctor shouts, "Now!" I push and push with all my might, wanting so badly for this hell to be over.

"Okay, very good, Miss Everdeen, we'll need one more good one at the next contraction." The doctor says.

"Come on sweetheart, I want to meet my grandson." Haymitch says with a wink in my direction.

I manage a smile, but then another contraction rips through my body, I push with the last of my remaining strength and then I hear Peeta let out a sob of joy as the squalling of a baby fills my ears.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 12: A Shining Star**

I stare down at the little bundle in my arms, not daring to breath. I listen to the thumping of the baby's pulse, like music to my ears that emanates through the blankets that envelope him. From the angelic face that peer out from the blankets, two piercing blue eyes stare up at me, mirror images of Peeta's. The doctors keep telling me that the eye color could only be temporary, that the blue color is just a lack of pigmentation; it could develop with time. They're wrong though; I know they'll stay the same. I run my hand through the baby's thick brown curls, minding his soft spot. I trace the contours of his little face, the slight divot of his lips, the round of his ears, the little dimples in his cheeks. _My Son._

Peeta sits next to me on the bed, his arms around me as I cradle our little boy. "He's so beautiful, Katniss," He whispers.

"I know," I say as tears of joys slide down my face. Normally, I would be appalled at such a display of emotion, but this is my son and he deserves the very best.

"Would you mind if I hold him?" Haymitch says as he walks over from where he's been sitting. I nod and reluctantly hand the baby to him. Haymitch cradles him expertly, rocking him softly back and forth. I could swear I catch a glimmer of a tear in his eye, but I don't say anything about it, "the little bugger's fallen asleep," he says after awhile. He carefully hands him back to me and I continue to stare at him, still not believing the love I feel for this tiny creature.

"Have you picked out a name?" Haymitch asks.

"No," Peeta says, "We haven't really discussed it, although I'm a fan of the name Asher and I also like Rowan. What about you Katniss?"

"Well—"I hesitate for a moment, but then continue, "That night on the beach, when we were talking about the baby—I kind of picked out a name. Well, actually I don't even know if it's a name or not or if it could even be used as one." I stare down at the sleeping baby in my arms and all I can think of is that night on the beach, and the name that popped into my head. It seems to fit so perfectly….

"Well, what is it?" Peeta asks rather impatiently.

"Caelum," I say softly, "It means sky or heaven, My Dad mentioned it when I was younger. We could call him Cae for short." I proceed to explain to them my father's philosophy on stars and how it had comforted me after his death and how it had comforted me that night.

"Caelum." Peeta says testing it out on his tongue, "I like it." He smiles, a genuine smile something I've barely seen since waking up.

"And for a middle name we can use Asher, if you'd like." I offer.

"Caelum Asher Mellark—or Everdeen, I guess we haven't talked about that either." Peeta says.

"Mellark, his last name's Mellark."

...

I have to stay in the hospital for a full week since Caelum was born so early. The doctors say I'm lucky; he's big for a preemie at five pounds and his lungs were fully developed (something Peeta and I have found out to be very true these last few nights). Prim and my mother finally come to visit on the third day after Caelum's birth.

Prim enters the room first, her hair up in a tight bun and wearing a standard white nurses uniform that makes me miss the days of her two little braids and little ducktails from her shirt. My mother follows behind her, looking better than I've seen her since My father died. She too wears a nurse's uniform. We stand there awkwardly for a few moments before Prim speaks up.

"Is that him?" She asks gesturing towards the bassinette at the side of my bed.

"No, just a random baby they left in here." I say sarcastically. I'm reminded that Prim is no longer someone I can make these comments to at the dark look on her face. I miss my little sister and this odd teenager that has taken her place has me baffled. "Yes, it is," I sigh, "You can see him if you'd like."

Prim has always had a soft spot for little babies and small children. Back in twelve she used to always play with the little ones every opportunity she had. She was a common visitor at the daycare center, always playing with the toddlers and cooing at the newborns. The way she looks at Caelum though, it's different. She seems to be analyzing him, processing him. She's not as open or as playful with my little baby boy as she peers at him in the bassinette.

"Would you like to hold him?" I venture, hoping to get a positive emotional response out of this perpetually angry girl.

"No, that's alright." For some reason this angers me. Is my son not good enough for her? What is up with her lately?

"What the hell is wrong with you, Prim?" I say angrily, Peeta places a calming hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.

"What do you mean, Katniss?" she says coolly.

"Cut the crap, Prim. You've been awfully hostile towards me lately and I'm sick of it! I don't know why you keep stomping around like an entitled little princess, but I've had enough!"

"Oh _you've _had enough? Really, Katniss? Do you have any idea what I've been through the past few months? No, you don't _because you weren't there._ You weren't there when the bombs fell and took out the city. You didn't watch your friends and neighbors get burned alive or shot down by peacekeepers. No, you get to play house with your little boyfriend. Now that you've got a baby I suppose I'm going to get used to this, huh?" She folds her arms over her chest and glares at me defiantly, tears running down her face.

"Do you honestly think that, Prim? I was off playing _house?_ Last time I checked I was fighting to the death in the Hunger Games, for the second time. You're right Prim, I don't have the images of the bombs burned into my brain, but I do have the memory of Cato getting ripped apart by mutts in front of my eyes. I do remember the look on Gloss's face as my arrow pierced his throat. I remember holding Rue in her last few moments and feeling that last bit of life leave her little body. That's what I have, Prim, but you know what? I grew up and dealt with it. I didn't walk around like a pretentious bitch, I continued on."

"You were supposed to be there, Katniss." Her face softens and for a minute I catch a glimpse of my little duck, "You weren't supposed to get pregnant, you were supposed to watch over _me_ and be the perfect role model. You weren't supposed to leave me, Katniss."

"Prim—" She doesn't allow me to finish however, and she walks out the door, leaving an empty silence hanging in the room.

My mother, who has watched the whole exchange without a word, finally speaks up, "It's been hard on her, Katniss, try to understand. There was a boy she'd been seeing, the florist's son, Cedar, he was killed in the bombings. Congratulations, Katniss." The last bit seems to be tacked on as an afterthought. She doesn't give me a chance to respond, instead leaving in pursuit of Prim.

I feel numbed by this whole exchange. My little duck has grown up, but not in a direction I would've hoped for. She's right I should've protected her; I was supposed to protect her. If I can't take care of my little sister, what hope is there for Caelum?

I stare down at my sleeping son in the Bassinette; his little body twitches with the dreams that play in his mind. I hope that they are sweet ones, ones so much different from the nightmares that plague me each night. As I gaze down at his little form, I vow to protect Caelum in the way I failed to protect Prim.

**A/N: Kind of short but I wanted to add something in before the holidays. Thank you to all who reviewed! I can't believe how many people are following ths story! So what did you guys think of the name (Pronounced Ki-lem)? Anyways have a great holiday you guys!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 13: Black Hole**

It's just after Prim and my Mother leave that the roses come. Peeta had just left the room to go get some food down in the cafeteria. There are so many of them, an extravagant show of wealth. Their sick stench quickly fills the hospital room as they are brought in and I feel sick at the sight of them. The orderlies seem to struggle under the weight of the glass vase as they set it down on the hospital room's dresser. Coin quickly follows behind, her heels clacking loudly across the tile floors.

"Miss Everdeen, this has arrived for you." She says, she seems irritated and I wonder who shoved a stick up her ass.

"Who's sick enough to send me roses? And why do they have a presidential escort?" I ask, growing even more concerned by the moment.

"I must say I'm rather disappointed in your logic skills at the moment, Miss Everdeen. I would have assumed that after your time in the games you would be accustomed to Snow's cruel displays of power."

"The roses—they're from Snow?" I say in disbelief. At the sharp nod of her head, I blanch. My shock is quickly replaced by anger however, "How the hell did he manage that? You mean to tell me that you just let the number one enemy of the revolution send me flowers?" My voice gets higher with each word as does my fury, "What if they were poisonous? Or if there was a bomb concealed in them?"

Coin waits until I am finished with my tirade, looking at me as though I am a toddler throwing a temper tantrum over a toy, "Miss Everdeen, I assure you that the roses went through several, very thorough, security scans. They were completely clean, even the letter was checked for any foreign toxins."

"What letter?" My stomach fills with dread at her statement.

She walks over to the roses and carefully detaches an envelope from the flowers, "Here," She says as she hand it to me.

I tear open the letter, (it must have been resealed after the search, there's no way in Hell coin would have left it unread) and nearly vomit at the overwhelming smell of blood and roses that emanates off of the paper. The handwriting is neat and precise; it elegantly curves across the paper, delivering its evil message:

_Dear Ms. Everdeen,_

_I would just like to congratulate you on the birth of your son, Caelum Asher Mellark. I must remark on the boy's interesting name, I assume that it traces back to that night on the beach during the games? How very heartwarming. I hear that Caelum has Peeta's eyes and your hair, two very distinctive features; he will surely grow up to be very handsome. That is as long as he gets the opportunity. I would like to appeal to your maternal side, Ms. Everdeen. After all, is it really best to raise a child in the midst of a rebellion? I'm sure that our dear friend President Coin has already asked you to act as the Mockingjay. I merely ask you, Ms. Everdeen, to really think about what you're agreeing to. Caelum will surely live an unpredictable, most likely, unsafe life. He will become a high profile target for all parties. Is this the kind of life you wish your child to lead, surely not? I am asking for a ceasefire, so that the citizens of Panem will no longer have to live in fear. Think about your son, wouldn't it be nice to have him grow up in a safe environment? To have him live a long and full life? To enjoy his family and friends? Our dear friend Cinna tells me every day how badly he wishes to meet young Caelum. Wouldn't it be lovely to make this possible? It surely won't be if you continue as Coin's Mockingjay. I implore you to mull this matter over carefully._

_Best Regards,_

_President Snow_

I feel as though I cannot get enough air in my lungs. This letter has hit so many nerves that I've been reduced to a state of numbness. I have so many questions; how does he know Caelum's name? How does he even know Caelum's been born? Then, the taunt about Cinna. I know he's dead, he has to be. After the display before the games there is no way Snow would let him get away without paying the ultimate price. He's just toying with me now.

"H—have you read this?" I choke out, glancing up at Coin. I already know the answer, but I want the affirmation.

"Yes, I have. In fact, I had the option to withhold this from you. I hope this shows you how different things are here in thirteen. I severely doubt that had the roles been reversed, Snow would have shown you this letter or given you the roses. Do not be tempted by his offers, Miss Everdeen, he is merely trying to throw you off your game. Do not let him."

I nod my head and she turns to leave, "Wait—" I say, she stops and looks back at me, "Could you have those taken out of here?"

She pauses and examines the roses, taking one in her hand and caressing the blood red petals, "No, Miss Everdeen, I do believe I'll leave them here as a reminder to you of this meeting." She carefully places the rose back and then walks out the doors.

I lean my head back on the hospital pillow, trying to take small breaths as to limit my intake of the sickly smell. This encounter with Coin unnerves me; she does not trust my loyalty to her. I cannot get snow's letter off my mind, the threats he wove so delicately throughout it haunt me, as do coin's carefully worded warnings. This makes me question, for the first time, if I'm on the right side.

...

When Peeta comes back, I show him the letter and describe my meeting with Coin. He takes it all in without saying a word. Finally, after I've finished, he walks over to the baby's bassinette and picks him up. He rocks him back and forth, still silent.

After what seems like ages, he speaks up, "I'm sorry, Katniss."

"What are you sorry for, Peeta? You didn't do any of this."

"No, but I should be able to protect you and Cae somehow, but I can't. We've been a family for three days, and I've already failed you." He turns his eyes up to look at me and the heartbreaking waves of blue pierce my heart.

"Peeta," I say softly, "Don't think that, you are the best man I have ever met. You've always been there for me when I needed you and we've gotten through so much. Don't quit on me now, we _will_ get through this.

He opens his mouth to say something, when, for what seems like the billionth time today, the sliding doors open. We both look up to see Gale standing there, holding a small plush teddy bear in his arms. He pauses when he sees the looks on our faces.

"Get out." Peeta growls, the harsh tone of his voice seems so unnatural compared to his normally happy and carefree demeanor.

"Peeta, relax." I say, I'm curious as to what Gale has to say.

"Relax? After what he's said to you?" I stand up and place a hand on his shoulder. "Here, I'll take Cae and why don't you go and check up on things at work. You've barely left this hospital room for three days, I'm sure they'll have something for you to do. I'll handle this." He hands over Caelum, but I can see the reluctance in his eyes. I kiss him softly and he embraces me before leaving. I watch him go then turn to look at Gale expectantly.

"I—um—brought this for you," he says waving the teddy bear and then setting it on the bed, he then jams his hands in his pockets, a habit he's had since we were kids. "They're much more frugal and conservative around here, but I managed to pull a few strings to get the little tyke that." He seems impressed with himself, so I naturally feel the need to shoot him down.

"Oh thank you so very much, Gale!" I say with mock gratitude, "This fixes everything! Not talking to me for months and then screaming at me when I wake up from a coma! We'll be best friends forever!" I scowl after I finish my little act and he looks down, ashamed.

"I'm really trying, Catnip, or should I call you Katniss now, I'm not really sure." He mumbles. I know he's not really talking about my name, he's asking about our friendship. Gale's never been very good at facing his problems.

I sigh, and put Cae down, "Gale, I don't know, I just don't understand what you want me to do here. Between you and Prim I feel so lost and confused."

"It's just hard, Katniss, you have no idea. I relate to Prim in a sense that you were our staple. You were always there for us, holding us together when we needed you and then one day you were just—gone. When they pulled Prim's name during the reaping, I knew things would change, but I had no idea how much." I see tears glimmering in his eyes, threatening to fall, but he wipes them away before they get the chance. He's never been one for displays of emotion.

"Gale, I want us to be friends, I really do, but you need to accept that I've changed. I love Peeta; we have a son. I've grown up, Gale."

"I understand, I do, I'm happy for you, Katniss, really."

His attempt at a smile breaks my heart and I know that I've forgiven Gale, whether I want to or not. We've been best friends since we were small, he knows me almost as well as Peeta does. He's trying, I can tell and I'm willing to give him a second chance.

"Alright, Hawthorne, I believe you." I say with a grin as I pull him into a bear hug. I hadn't realized how much I missed him until now.

"So Katniss, you mentioned earlier something about Prim, what's going on?" he asks. My elated mood quickly turns sour at the mention of this.

"I failed her, Gale. I wasn't there to protect her when she needed me." I say quietly.

"Did she tell you all this?" he asks. I nod my head and he continues on, "Catnip, that's just Prim, you know her. She's having a rough way to go and she needs somebody to take it out on, you can't take her too seriously, she's just a kid."

"She said she lost someone during the bombings, do you know anything about it?"

Gale's face darkens, "We all lost people during the invasion. Prim had been seeing the florist's son, Cedar, do you remember him?" I think about it and an image of a tall, auburn haired boy comes to mind, I nod my head, "The town was hit first, as I'm sure Peeta's told you and very few of the merchants made it out alive. Cedar and his family were among those we lost. Rory lost someone too, he'd been out with a girl named, Sage, a few times. She was out trading in town when the bombs were dropped. Prim and him have been spending a lot of time with each other lately, they've been helping each other cope with the whole thing."

"That's good that they have each other, I think that's the only thing that got me and Peeta through after the games." I say.

"Katniss, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I was stupid and immature, I should have supported you." Before I can respond, Caelum wakes up and starts to cry. I scoop him up and attempt to quiet him.

"I'll catch up with you later, Catnip." Gale says, he waves and shuffles out the door, leaving me with a heavy heart and a lot on my mind.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 14: Galaxy**

President Alma coin sat at her desk, looking over several different files. Each one contained the personal information of a current military operative. She had them sorted into two piles; those fit for the job and those who just would not do. After much deliberation, she settled on a total of eight soldiers. This team was much different than any one she had put together before; it would be headed by those she thought most cooperative and then made up of those that would look best on camera.

Boggs; Homes; Hawthorne; Jackson; Mitchell; Odair; and of course, Everdeen, would make up Squad 451. She had special intentions for this squad, that is, as long as Jackson was willing to follow orders, but Coin had always had a way of getting people to see things her way. Even as a child she was the "commander of the sandbox" as her mother used to put it. Yes, her means were what some might view as "Oppressive" or "cruel", but she got the job done and that was what really mattered. Wasn't it? She produced results.

Katniss Everdeen had become a growing problem for Coin. A thorn in the side of the rebellion; a dart injecting poisonous ideas into Coin's delicately constructed ideals. She was insolent and stubborn, a deadly combination. She could not be trusted, and, for the good of thirteen, Coin intended to do something about it. While losing the Mockingjay might be dismaying to the people, if played correctly, it could be a fantastic motivator. Yes, Katniss Everdeen, would be a celebrated martyr, a heart-wrenching sacrifice; her son, a beacon of hope to the people of the rebellion. Looking back on it, she was glad the boy hadn't died, his usefulness was not to be overlooked.

Coin thought back to the incident with the roses, she had been shocked and even angered by Snow's audacity and obvious arrogance. As a politician, however, she used his ploy to her own advantage. Delivering the flowers to Everdeen had been priceless. Coin knew that she would be confused by the open flow of information and that Snow's carefully worded threats would definitely have an impact on her. If Jackson failed on his mission, the letter would serve as the perfect back up; she would kill Everdeen herself and then claim treason. She would tell thirteen that Katniss had become distraught over the thought of losing those closest to her; snow's threats had driven her over the edge. It was perfect. She could not lose.

Coin pressed a few buttons on her communicuff and sent a message off to each of the selected personal, "meeting in my office, now." It read. The president sat back into her comfortable leather chair and folded her hands. As she waited for the officers to arrive, she couldn't help but think to herself in a cruel fit of irony: _let the games begin._

_...0..._

Gale Hawthorne stepped out of the president's office with a determined expression. He realized what an honor it was to be placed on Squad 451. Not only would he be in charge of protecting the most valuable people Thirteen possessed, but they would also be storming the capitol. A task he was more than eager to do. The capitol was the epitome of the empire. It stood for the oppression he had suffered his entire life, the loss of his best friend, the blow of losing his home and his people. Just as he was about to turn down the hallway to his apartment, Gale felt a hand land on his shoulder and twist him around.

His body tensed, expecting an attack, an unfortunate side effect of being a soldier, but instead he found himself face to face with Peeta Mellark. His face hardened and he scowled, "What?" He demanded sharply.

"Now is that anyway to talk to your superior, General Hawthorne?" Peeta said with a smirk, Gale resisted the urge to wipe it off his smug face; even though him and Katniss had been getting along, Peeta still had a problem with him and he had a feeling that mucking up the senator's face wouldn't look so good in his file.

"Look, I don't have time for this, Mellark, I have to go prepare for our mission."

Gale turned to leave, but Peeta stopped him, "Wait, I really do need to talk to you." Gale made a show of tapping his foot impatiently and Peeta continued, "With us going into the field together with Katniss, I want to make a sort of _agreement_, if you will. I need to make sure that she gets out of this thing alive, understand? I don't care what kind of issues we have with each other, I just want to make sure she's safe and I know you care about her too. Will you help me?" Peeta's eyes seemed to plead with Gale and for the first time, Gale saw how much the other man truly loved Katniss. He felt his heart knot up at this, and boiling hot anger simmer to the surface. Rage and jealousy were some of Gale's most prominent emotions, he struggled to keep them under control every day, it was even more difficult for him with Mellark rubbing against the raw nerve that was Katniss Everdeen.

"Don't insult me," Peeta's face fell at these words, "Do you honestly think I'd let my best friend go out and get herself killed?" Gale smirked at the way Peeta's face lit up at his words.

"Thank you, I just have to make sure she makes it home. Oh, and could we not tell her about this? She'd be pretty pissed at me, as I'm sure you'll understand."

Gale chuckled, "You think she wouldn't have my head too? And I'm not even marrying her." The two men shared a laugh and then shook each other's hands.

"You're alright, Hawthorne." Peeta said.

"Not so bad yourself, Mellark." Gale said back, with a grin.

...0.00000.0..0.0.

Annie Odair sat in her apartment, staring in disbelief at the tiny stick. The two little lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her, confirming her suspicions. She knew that having a baby during the rebellion would be hard, but she didn't care; she was far too excited.

She could just picture a bouncing baby girl, with Finnick's thick locks and charming smile. She'd have his people skills as well, Annie had never been good with people as a child; she was too shy. As an adult she was still quite socially awkward, preferring to stay in and read or knit rather than go out with others.

Her excitement peaked when she heard Finnick walk through the door. "Annie, I'm back, and boy, do I have news for you!" She could hear the excitement in his voice and she quickly jammed the pregnancy test out of sight.

"What is it?" She smiled at him as he pulled her into a loving embrace.

"Well, Coin just called me, Katniss, Peeta and a few others into her office and guess what!" Annie felt herself growing more and more curious based upon finnick's hardly contained excitement.

"Yes?" she said patiently, fighting to keep herself from laughing at his childlike enthusiasm.

"We'll be heading a mission into the Capitol! We'll be securing off the neighborhoods so that the hovercrafts will be able to have a straight shot at Snow's mansion! Isn't that fantastic?"

Annie felt a growing pit of dread open in her stomach. Finnick was leaving her; _her and the baby. _What if he was injured or killed? How would she raise their child alone? "W-when do you leave?" Her voice trembled and she felt her throat tighten.

"We ship out in a week. Annie, what's wrong?" Finnick asked, his elated expression falling into one of concern.

"It's nothing, Finnick, don't worry." She sniffed. She didn't want him to be distracted on his mission. She would tell him when he got home. _If he comes home,_ a voice in the back of her mind whispered.

"Honey, what is it?" He said, taking both of her hands in his and kissing them softly.

"Finnick—I-I'm pregnant." She said softly. Finnick froze and looked up at her, then he broke out into a huge grin.

"Really?" she nodded and he continued on, "A baby," he breathed.

"Yes, a baby." She said quietly, unable to meet those famous sea-green eyes that she adored so much.

"We're going to have a baby, Annie! A little boy or girl, oh gosh! When did you find out?" He jumped around in excitement.

"Just a few moments ago," she laughed through her tears. His childlike demeanor never failed to cheer her up. God, she loved Finnick Odair. He was her whole world, the thought of losing him was unthinkable.

"This is fantastic! When I get back we'll start looking for baby things! What'll we paint the nursery?" He began chattering on and on until Annie placed a finger to his lips. He stopped and looked at her questioningly.

"Just promise me you'll be careful out there, Finnick." She whispered.

"Of course, my dear." He said before kissing her softly.

.00...0.0

Haymitch laid sprawled across his king sized bed, a pillow laying over his face and the blinds drawn. He had just been informed of Coin's new Squad 451 and what their mission was. He knew that the president was plotting something, which meant that he needed to figure out what. She was two steps ahead of him and he did not enjoy the feeling. Bitch.

He sat up on the bed and threw the pillow back where it belonged; he felt around with his feet for his house slippers, then pushed himself off the bed and walked towards the kitchen.

Haymitch opened the fridge and rummaged around in it, looking for something remotely edible. All he found were a few soy patties and some tofu. He scowled and grumbled to himself over District Thirteen's healthy dietary program. He yearned for Greasy Sae's soup and a roasted squirrel. He wanted to sink his teeth into something with sustenance, not any of this health food shit. If coin didn't kill him, the food here definitely would.

He grabbed the unopened bottle of bourbon off the counter and reached for a glass on the top shelf. He carefully poured himself a moderate amount (he still intended to cut down on his drinking for Caelum) and leaned against the counter. He took a sip of the drink and contemplated what his next move should be.

He suspected that Coin would hope to get some good promos of Katniss in the field; she was just as crazy about her image as snow was. This team would definitely be based more on publicity than actual fighting. Although she did risk coming off as a bit cruel sending both Katniss and Peeta in, especially so soon after Cae's birth. It seemed to him that a promo showing the happy family of the Mockingjay would better suit her needs. He didn't understand why she wouldn't—Why she wouldn't—

He frowned, his thoughts felt cloudy; the words just wouldn't come to him. He attempted to clear his mind and panicked when he found he couldn't.

He felt the right half of his face go numb and then felt a tingling sensation in his limbs. His hand began to tremble and the glass he had been holding shattered to the floor. Scattering across the floor and digging into his bare legs. His knees suddenly turned to rubber and they gave out beneath him, his body landing in the shards of glass and they bit at him like rabid dogs; burrowing into his flesh. He fought to hang on to his consciousness, but his vision continued to fade. Finally, the blackness overwhelmed him and the world went dark.


End file.
